


Through These Pages

by Defira



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Heterosexual Sex, Love Letters, Masturbation, Rivalry, Secret Identity, Seduction, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:30:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>One day, M!LI stumbles across a wayward letter. It's beautifully written and sad, one of those letters never intended for sending. It strikes a deep chord with M!LI. It's not signed, but there's a random note/doodle on the back that depicts a clear location (sketch of city landmark like a fountain/tree, a note mentioning a library/store/bar etc.). Unable to resist, M!LI writes a response. Words of comfort, understanding. On a whim, he leaves it at the location depicted on the letter, not even sure Mystery Writer will get it. Doesn't sign in case someone else finds it.</i></p><p><i>Hawke finds the letter, writes back, leaving it in the same spot. Lather, rinse, repeat. This goes on for a long time, and they grow closer through these letters, never giving away details that would destroy their anonymity, but talking about their deepest secrets, fears. They eventually fall in love through these letters. </i></p><p><i>Of course, they do know each other, they just don't know that. And outside of the letters, their relationship is not good at all (this does change, and they become conflicted, having feelings for two different people, not realising they're the same person).</i>"</p><p>From a prompt on k!meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Lost Letters and Rivalries

The merchant stall in Hightown did not look out of the ordinary- colourful, tasteful bunting that hung at just the right angle, stock presented on the table in nice even rows, everything shining and sparkling and dusted. It looked no different from any of the other trinket shops that were here to indulge the young ladies of Kirkwall, or the young men looking to find an easy gift for the object of their affection. And it was probably because it looked like any other stall in Hightown that it had gone unnoticed for so long.

That had all changed last night, when the necklace worn by Lady Jostille to a soiree held at Hawke Manor had turned out to be cursed- and had left vicious scorch marks in her skin as it melted into slag in the middle of dinner. The whole evening could have turned fatal very quickly were it not for the quick thinking of the hostess herself, who had treated the burn with nothing more than a cool cloth and the honey that was supposed to have been drizzled over their desserts. The news had at first brought unkind sniggers from across Kirkwall at the thought of clumsy Marian Hawke lunging across the table to smear honey on her guest's bosom, but the two mages who had been escorted from the Gallows to tend to the Lady and inspect the remains of the cursed necklace had praised her quick thinking- the honey had sealed the wound, it seemed, stopping infection from setting in in the hours it took for news of the incident to reach the Gallows and help to arrive.

Now, with the story circulating Kirkwall with alarming speed and getting more and more elaborate with each telling, Knight Captain Cullen was carefully overseeing three of his men as they dismantled the stall, inspecting all of the trinkets with extreme care while anything suspicious was passed immediately to Senior Enchanter Cerene. A small crowd had gathered behind then, undoubtedly curious to see if anything else was going to explode or catch fire or unleash a dragon on the city. Cullen ignored them, much more focussed on the task at hand and the need to hunt down the instigators of what was looking suspiciously like a magical smuggling ring.

The owner of the stall had already been dragged away by the city guard, which was proving tiresome now not to have someone to question. And he couldn't put off the unpleasant task of speaking to Marian Hawke for much longer, to garner her side of the story. Ever since her younger sister Bethany had surrendered herself to the Circle last year, Marian had been a vocal opponent of the Templars and even though hers' was a new voice in Hightown, she was painful to deal with at the best of times.

One of his men was walking towards him with an armful of worn, leather volumes. "These look like magic tomes, Knight Captain," he said, holding the books out uneasily. "Spells and whatnot; do you want me to destroy them?"

Frowning, Cullen shook his head and took the stack from him. "We will take them back to the Gallows and have them examined by the Senior Enchanters, to see if there is any merit to keeping them." He picked up the top one and began to flick randomly through the pages, scowling at the magic he could feel bleeding from the ink. "Pack them into the chests with the rest of the evidence, and then we can-"

Something crisp and white caught his attention, a loose sheet of paper that was a vastly different colour to the yellowed, flaking pages of the tome. He set the stack down on the stall table and gently removed the suspicious page; when there was no magical backlash for him taking it out of the book, he folded it out and carefully smoothed out the page.

It was a letter, penned immaculately in a sloping hand that spoke of someone well educated and very articulate. The page was smudged in a few places, as if by tears, and as his eyes skimmed the lines, he realised quickly what an opportunity he had before him.

 _And so I put my pen to paper again... for the last time, I wonder? No, foolish woman, there is no need to be so maudlin. I can hear their voices now, chastising me for laying myself so low, encouraging me to pick myself up. But, oh, how it hurts! I feel surely as if I might die from the pain that tries to cleave my heart in two. Never have I felt so worthless, so useless._

 _For all that I have done, for all that I have sacrificed to save them... to fail so repeatedly is an ongoing agony. What am I doing so wrong? They must hate me; surely they must despise me for what I have done to them, what I do to them daily. I am supposed to protect them, cherish them, nurture them..._

 _I do not deserve this happiness, this prosperity. They should have been with me, to laugh and love and dance together in this new life. Instead I am all but alone, by my own foolishness, my own inability to act, ~~my own damned uselessness~~_

 _I... I think that I am lost. I do not know what to do without them. But the world expects me to smile and be merry, so tomorrow I will pick myself up and I will laugh again. I will burn this letter. Or, better yet, I will take it to the Chanter's Board at the top of the hill, and I will pin it there for all to see how low I have fallen. I will pull out the loose brick just at the base of the board and I will hide this letter, and every time I walk past I will laugh and say 'look! My plea goes unheard. The Maker does not see fit to soothe the hearts of his most broken children!'_

 _And now the drink begins to speak. I should put my pen away, before I incriminate or embarrass myself further. Maker save me, I hope I remember to destroy this._

Cullen lowered the letter slowly, feeling the depths of the author's misery leech from the page and into his blood. Whoever she was, her agonised plea for help and her scathing self-loathing called to something within him. He stared at the words again. _I think that I am lost._

He shook himself and folded the letter before tucking it into his belt pouch. The paper was still crisp, the ink still sharp, so the letter could not have been written that long ago. He would speak to the stall owner about it, ask if the grubby little man knew anything about the author of the letter, and if not he would write a carefully composed response and hide it under the brick she spoke of. Assuming, of course, that she was referring to the Kirkwall Chantry- he cast his eyes up to the building that sat close to the top of the hill, just as the letter said- it was very possible she would be inclined to check and see if her letter had vanished.

Given that the letter was hidden inside an illegal tome of spells, and given the careful wording of her letter, he was very much inclined to think she was an apostate. At the very least, she was definitely someone involved in the mage underground. To find this letter, bemoaning her inability to protect people dear to her heart, in a magic book, in a stall full of magic trinkets, in a city full of apostates in hiding...

He would reply to her, gain her confidence and draw her out of hiding. If she was a normal, grieving woman with her own heartbreak and tragedy he would of course apologise for the deception. But if she was a mage...

He tried not to feel disgusted at himself for seeking to use this woman's pain against her. Order must be upheld, and Chantry law existed with good reason. She would hardly be the first to be torn from her loved ones for the sake of her own safety. It was never easy, breaking up families, but it had to be done. The mind of a mage was ever an unknown, always to be suspected, never trusted- sometimes it was hard to make people understand such a harsh truth.

"Knight Captain." The words broke through his reflection and he turned to the knight before him. "We have catalogued all of the merchandise. Should we take it back to the Gallows?"

Shaking himself from his musings and the sentimental air that had begun to fall upon him, he nodded briskly. "Yes, escort Enchanter Cerene, and have her give a rundown to Orsino on the nature of the items. Tell the Knight Commander that my investigations will leave me in the city a little longer."

Because before he could write falsely sympathetic letters to crying apostates, he had to speak with Marian Hawke.

***

Marian sighed, rubbing her hand across the back of her neck as she looked down at Bodahn. "Really? The Knight Captain himself deigns to dirty his boots by crossing the threshold of a mage sympathising household? Wonder of wonders, is the sky falling too?"

"I... ah, I couldn't say messere," Bodahn said, his tone conveying his confusion. "Should I... ask Ser Cullen to vacate the premises?"

She buried her face in her hands for a moment. "No Bodahn," she said, voice muffled by her fingers. "Please show him into my study and tell him I'll be with him in five minutes. I..." She looked down at her scrappy clothes, perfectly comfortable for lying about the house and reading, but hardly appropriate for a Hightown lady greeting her guests. "I suppose I'd best change into something more fitting."

Bodahn departed to deal with the Knight Captain; the moment she was alone, Marian threw her arms in the air in frustration and stomped towards her wardrobe. "Arrogant, holier-than-thou dick," she muttered under her breath as she tugged something that looked vaguely sensible from the hanger and went about trying to get the damned thing on without having to summon her mother for help with the innumerable laces. Gah, what she wouldn't give to be back in Lothering, where the height of fashion was simply making the effort of coming to the dinner table without dirt on your face!

Finally presentable, she dashed from the room and skidded down the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time. The sooner she could deal with him, the sooner he'd be gone. As the study door came into view she slowed her steps so that she didn't look entirely like a heathen, bursting in at a sprint. Two feet from the door and her foot caught in the runner- she stumbled and her knee slammed into the side table, the vase of artfully arranged flowers smashing to the floor and splattering water all over her outfit.

"Shit!" She hopped in place, hugging her knee to her stomach as she waited for the pain to subside. Then she realised that with her leg clutched like that, her smalls were exposed to anyone who might happen to wander into the hall just then, her skirt hitching up around her waist. " _Shit!_ " she exclaimed in dismay, dropping her leg and tugging her skirt back into place, ignoring the protests of her bruised knee. She patted ineffectively at the stains on her skirt. "Oh Maker, yes, what a _good_ idea it is to flash myself to the Knight Captain. And ladies don't say shit, do they? _Great_ start to the morning, Marian."

She stopped to regain her balance, trying to smooth her clothing back into some semblance of order. "Alright," she muttered, straightening her shoulders. "I am cool and calm and collected and nothing that pompous ass says is going to upset me. Not this time. Not today."

She ran a hand through her hair, promptly mussing it, and opened the door, fixing a cold stare to her face as she stepped through into the study. "Knight Captain," she said coolly, folding her hands demurely in front of her the way she'd been practising. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Cullen was standing before her desk- _spying on my correspondence, eh?_ \- with one eyebrow raised. He was silent, and the longer he took to answer her question, the more she fought the urge to squirm under his condescending gaze. Finally, when she was about to shriek at him to get out if he was just going to stand there like a golem, he crossed his arms over his chest and said "Are you having a _great_ morning, Miss Hawke?"

Her stomach dropped. "You heard that?" she asked weakly; at his nod she tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. "Well, _shit._ "

"Your opinion of me is... saddening, to say the least."

She snorted inelegantly; no point in playing the noble lady now. "Oh, please, Cullen, you know _exactly_ how I feel about you. Don't act so surprised."

He did not look impressed with her explanation. "I had hoped we could move past that, and you could see the necessity of my role."

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "I'm not in the mood to argue with you, Knight Captain, and I'm definitely not in the mood to put up with your weak pseudo religious justifications for imprisoning my sister. State your business so we can deal with it and I can politely have my manservant eject you from my home."

***

Marian wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the Kirkwall sunshine, taking a deep breath of the only marginally filthy air to try and clear her head. Cullen had departed ten minutes earlier, and only now were her stress levels dropping to something that wasn't a health hazard. Even thinking about him again now had her fists clenching at her sides, and her eyes burned momentarily with the threat of tears.

"Stupid, arrogant man," she muttered, dashing her hands against her cheeks quickly before any of the Hightown gossips noticed her standing in front of her house and blubbing like an idiot. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad, losing Bethany to the Circle, if she hadn't had to put up with someone like Cullen endlessly reminding her just how _villainous_ her adorable, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly sister was in the eyes of the Chantry, and what a _terrible_ person she was for hiding her away all these years. He couldn't understand that there were exceptions to the rule, that some mages were perfectly normal, happy people with no desire to use their magic except for the smallest and most virtuous of tasks.

To him, all mages were maleficar in waiting, if not fully fledged blood mages to begin with. No matter what arguments she took to him, she always came away feeling stupid and emotional and completely and utterly childish. His snide attitude whenever she tried to espouse the virtuous acts of famous mages made her feel so insignificant that she wanted to stamp her feet and possibly even slap him- not that that would end well.

And now, having him come and question her about the incident last night at the party... as if she wasn't embarrassed enough already! The party had been a stupid, ridiculous, wretched idea, and she wished heartily that her mother had never insisted upon it. She didn't have the grace or the patience to play the part of a Hightown lady- her clumsiness alone had her making a fool of herself nine times out of ten, and that was before people began making veiled insults about her athletic build and her lack of breeding and her propensity to snort rather than titter.

That was a revelation- young ladies were supposed to titter delicately. What the fuck was a titter? It sounded like some kind of bird.

She was somewhat proud of herself, for having stood her ground against him without resorting to screaming or foot stamping. She'd politely but coldly informed of what had happened the night before, and then with as much grace as she could muster, she had asked him to leave. Twenty minutes later and she was still flustered from his visit, her self-esteem having plummeted the moment Bodahn had announced he was waiting to speak to her. Cullen just made her feel so... gah! What was the point of even dwelling on it? The man was impossible and insensitive and clearly ambitious for more power in the ranks of the Templars. He sneered at her for protecting Bethany, and made her feel like a little girl playing at grown-up affairs whenever she tried to stand up for mage dignity.

Marian made sure her greatsword was firmly attached to her back before she set off through the streets- it wouldn't be the first time she'd left the house and forgotten to tighten one of the straps, and that never ended well- before setting off towards the Chantry. She didn't consider herself particularly religious, but old habits were hard to shake off, and she'd spent so many years taking Bethany to services that she found a modicum of comfort in the routine. In imagining that Bethany was still with her, frowning at her whenever she tried to whisper gossip during the most boring parts of the sermons.

She paused at the base of the grand staircase to flick through the notices pinned to the Chanter's Board. Just because she lived in Hightown now didn't mean that she had to stop helping people- and the extra coin she earned could go straight to the Ferelden Import Shop, or to Anders when she could force the donation upon him. It wasn't like she needed the funds anymore, and taking these little jobs kept her from going mad at the hypocrisy of noble life. At least she could justify her fancy house by taking an honest day's work a few times a week.

Leaning her shoulder against the wall as she thumbed through the few requests for aid she'd pulled down, she put too much weight onto her bad knee and suddenly went tumbling sideways, papers flying through the air. She hit the ground with an ' _oomph_ ' and sat there with paper raining down on her while her face grew beet red. A few people passing by stared at her, and she saw a child on the far side of the square point and tug on his mother's hand. She could just imagine the conversation- _"Mama! What is that lady doing pulling down the Chanter's Board?" "Pay her no heed, child, it's simply that mad Hawke girl."_

"What a fabulous morning," she groused, pulling herself into a sitting position and trying to collect up the job requests as they fluttered to the ground. With a sigh, she grabbed hold of the wall to try and lever herself to her feet- and promptly fell backwards again when one of the bricks slid free with a crunch of loose mortar and threw her off balance.

She lay on her back in front of the Chanter's Board staring up at the sky. "Really?" she asked the clouds, quite prepared to let people think she was mad at that point. "Really? Is this because I called the Knight Captain a pompous ass? Are you trying to tell me you're siding with him now? Because, I have to say that if that's the case, I will be converting to the Qun. Just saying."

For the second time she pushed herself upright, first to a sitting position, and then to her feet with a great deal more success than she'd managed on the first attempt. She was still holding onto the brick, and looking about guiltily- did this count as desecrating the House of the Maker?- she bent down to slot it back where it had come from.

"Huh," she said; at the back of the little gap was a neatly folded piece of paper, and she stretched her fingers in to dig it out. It was written on quality paper, not the kind she normally saw pinned to the board- in fact if she was not mistaken it looked like the very same paper that she bought from the apothecary whenever she needed to restock her stationery.

Curious now, she unfolded the paper from the tight square it had been reduced to, noting pleasantly the bold, masculine strokes of the pen-strokes that spoke of someone well educated and competent with his letters. Her eyes began to skim over the lines, and she felt a gasp break from her; a trembling hand came up to her mouth as she read the letter from the beginning again to make sure she had not misread.

 _My dear lady,_

 _Let it not be said that the Maker does not seek to heal the broken hearted. Your suffering and your heartache do not go unobserved, and I write to you with the sincerest hope that you will take strength from my words and find the courage within you to stand tall once more._

 _The pain of losing loved ones is never simple, and it is a burden that we all must bear at some point- even knowing this, it does not make it any easier when the time comes. I am certain, though, that those that you have lost would not wish to see you abandon hope so quickly._

 _I suspect you are a woman of strength and moral fortitude, and that your character is one of faith and love and fidelity to those you care for. Please, do not give up. Your struggles do not go unnoticed, and it must be said that steel tempered in the hottest flames is forged into the strongest of weapons. Let these trials make you stronger, my lady._

 _I am concerned for you, and wish you to know that you are not alone in your exertions. It would honour me greatly to have your trust, to help you through this darkness and back to the path the Maker has set for you. If you would do me this honour, I look forward to your correspondence, to be returned to this place for me to collect._

 _Sincerely, A Concerned Friend._

Marian lowered the letter, feeling tears burning at her eyes anew. This... _letter_ , this missive... it was like a balm for her soul. The words were clearly intended for another- surely they were intended for another, but was it coincidence that she would find it, such beautiful, heart wrenching words that seemed to sing to her and her alone? Sweet prophet, it was as if someone had sat down and watched her every trial and tribulation and had sought to soothe her for every little agony that kept her awake long into the night.

***

The letter burned a hole in her pocket all day, her hand drifting to her hip time after time to check that the folded square was still safely tucked away. It felt a little wrong to keep it, for clearly it was meant for someone else, but... it _spoke_ to _her_. The gentle, tender words seemed to have been written solely with her in her mind, and she couldn't help the little smile that touched her lips every so often at the thought of some mysterious author watching her struggle to fit into Hightown life, or fighting to get through the guilt of Carver's death and Bethany's imprisonment.

It was as if the writer had seen these things, and so many other struggles that made up her days, and had reached out to her. By that token, she justified weakly, she was well within her rights to keep someone else's correspondence because, well... it could just as easily have been written for her.

And now, with a full day behind her in which she had agonised over the decision to keep the letter or not, the blessed thing sat on her desk as she stalked up and down the room lost in thought. She would have said she was pacing, but a friend- she gritted her teeth at the memory of Merrill's words, which were admittedly not meant unkindly- had pointed out that her steps were far too forceful, her stride too wide and her face too fierce for the motion to be considered graceful. It was just another notch in the ' _Marian is an inelegant lout_ ' column that seemed to be her mother's bane.

The guilt at taking someone else's letter was starting to eat at her, and she stared at the paper on the desk in anguished indecision. Should she put it back, sneaking out into the dark streets now to slip it back into its little hidey hole? Or- and this was the really tempting part- should she write back, adopting the part of this mysterious lady in distress? Even to just pretend that someone cared about her struggles, the little things she tortured herself about that no one else even seemed to notice or care about, would be wonderful.

The letter was sitting side by side with a blank piece of paper, a telling sign of how close she was to succumbing to the lure of responding.

"Gah!" She threw her arms in the air and turned her back on the desk, staring into the fire instead as she ran a hand through her hair. "It's not yours to play with, Marian- just put the damned thing back. It's obviously been written for someone with just as many problems as you, so they probably need it more. Probably."

Inevitably, she turned her head to stare over her shoulder at the two sheets of paper on the desk. She chewed on her lip, the temptation growing and growing in her head until she found herself drifting back to the other side of the room. As if in a trance, she brushed her fingers over the letter, lingering over some of the admirations.

 _I suspect you are a woman of strength..._

 _...heal the broken hearted..._

 _...honour me greatly to have your trust..._

She felt her heart speed up a little, a slight giddiness overtaking her as she grinned like a besotted idiot. Surely... surely it couldn't hurt to reply? The letter was vague, without any distinct references to people or places or times. It didn't really seem like the author was writing to a dear and beloved friend, after all. It was too curious for that, as if these were tendrils of inquisition- it was almost as if the author was trying to pry more information from the recipient, but in a very gentle way.

She sat down slowly at the desk, looking from the letter to the blank page and back again. After a moment she groaned and ran a hand over her face. "What are you doing, Marian?" she asked herself, not bothering to keep her voice down. The others had gone to bed some time ago, after all, and the bedrooms were at the far end of the house. "You've stolen someone's mail and now you're going to pretend to be them just so you can feel appreciated? That a new low even for you."

But the quill was already in her hand- how did that happen? - and as she sat there, the temptation was abruptly too much. To have someone care about her, in however remote a fashion, was just too appealing.

She dipped the quill into the inkpot and started to write.

***

 _My Concerned Friend,_

 _I must confess myself vastly surprised to have found your missive today. Your words have touched a nerve, and I dare to think that perhaps I find myself chastised for my maudlin thoughts? Regardless, I must express how deeply your concern has touched me- I doubt that I have smiled so much in many months, and more than a few acquaintances commented that I was nothing short of giddy for the rest of the day._

 _I do not think you realise how desperately I needed your words, my dear friend. May I call you dear? I daresay you can't object too strenuously through paper and ink, so perhaps I am safe in my affections from afar. You have reached through the page and brought hope back to a heart that was perhaps not cold and broken, but at the very least was far too fatigued by loss and pain and sorrow._

 _So to you, my Concerned Friend, I offer my most sincere thanks. You have shown me that even in the darkest nights, we can see the stars if we truly search for them. You have brought a smile back to my face, and renewed my faith in others and in myself. And for that I cannot thank you enough._

 _Reservedly, An Anonymous Lady_

Cullen frowned and held the second letter up against the first letter, comparing the gentle sloping strokes of the quill on each. They were a very close match, if not perfect- but the tone of the letters was different. There was not such an immense sense of hopelessness as he had sensed with the first; if anything he would have said the second letter qualified as optimistic. He dropped them onto the desk and tapped his fingers against the wood, considering this new development.

He really hadn't expected to get a response so quickly, but it meant that his suspicions were correct and that the woman was in Kirkwall, and still a possible threat to the populace if she turned out to be a mage on the run. He'd penned his letter in Marian's study, taking advantage of the time she took to sulk in her room and come up with scathing rejoinders to anything logical he might try to present to her. Her desk had been just as scattered and disorganised as the woman herself, but it hadn't been hard to find a blank piece of paper and write a quick response to the mysterious letter. She'd nearly caught him at the task, and only her innate ungainliness had saved him, hearing the crash and bang and then colourful curses that signalled her arrival in the hallway. It gave him time to sweep both letters out of sight before she finally stalked into the room with dishevelled hair, stained and rumbled clothing, and fire in her eyes.

Kirkwall's newest Lady was not born to the role, it seemed.

He shook himself, abruptly realising that he'd trailed off task and was stuck on thoughts of Marian Hawke- of all people! He admired her spirit and determination, however badly misplaced it was, but apart from that the woman was a menace.

He glanced back down at the two paper on his desk and sighed. Perhaps she really was so lonely and so miserable that a stranger's words could have such a profound effect on her. Something didn't necessarily feel right though, and he couldn't put his finger on it. He frowned over the words again, eyes tracing the elegant letters to find some hidden significance, some double meaning in her response.

His eyes narrowed when he worked it out- her little flirtation was too obvious, a tad over the top for someone corresponding with a stranger. Maybe she was as suspicious of him as he was of her, for she'd practically taunted him by refusing to reveal her identity.

 _Even on the darkest nights, we can see the stars if we truly search for them._

His fingers brushed the page, his eyes lingering on that one line. How apt, that her words could so accurately reflect his recovery from the torture he had suffered in Kinloch Hold all those years ago. The blood mage attack, his darkest night if ever there was one, had at least given him purpose, hardening his heart against all mages and giving him the strength to find his Maker chosen path- to Kirkwall, a city in dire need of leadership and firm warnings about the dangers mages posed.

His thoughts drifted again, and he shook himself. The woman had revealed nothing useful, so he obviously had to coax her into the trap.

He picked up his pen.


	2. Of Love Letters and Hostility

_My Dear Lady,_

 _Words cannot express how delighted I am that my words sparked such inspiration within you. Truly, you honour me no end by choosing to find comfort from my humble letters. I must admit to finding myself curious as to the identity of the woman whose life I have apparently rescued- might a humble saviour beg your indulgence to learn a little more of you? Who, for example, do you mourn so passionately that your very belief in yourself could be so shattered? Why do you believe that they would despise you for doing your very best to protect and defend them? I ask your forgiveness if my questions seem too forward, I merely seek to understand what could drive such an impassioned woman to such extraordinary lows._

 _Additionally, I can hardly object to your affectionate words when I myself used such an endearment first. As it is, I take no offence from your exuberance, my dear anonymous lady._

 _With Apologetic Curiosity, Your Concerned Friend_

Marian nearly dropped the letter in a panic, as if the blasted thing were as hot as glowing coals. She stared warily at the words on the page, rubbing her forearm absently as if to comfort herself.

"See, Marian?" she muttered to herself as she scanned the lines again. Her heart stuttered a little every time she came to the line _impassioned woman_. It made her feel all tingly and wonderful, as if someone thought her to be graceful as well as forceful, instead of just a klutzy Hightown imposter. "This is what happens when you steal other people's mail. They get suspicious and start asking questions. He must have realised the wrong person answered, and now you'll be arrested for prying into other people's personal affairs."

She pushed off from the chair and went to stand over by the fire, staring into the painfully bright depths of the flames until her eyes watered. Her heart desperately wanted her to throw all caution to the wind and reply immediately to the caring stranger with the immaculate penmanship. A strange thing to find thrilling, but having grown up in rural Ferelden, an educated man was hard to come by. Her head, however, was very eager to put a stop to this madness before she did something ridiculous and embarrassed herself once again.

Chewing on her lip in indecision, she drifted back over to the table. "It's not like you can embarrass yourself if nobody knows you're doing it," she murmured as she sat down again, the quill already back in her hand.

***

 _My Dear Friend,_

 _Your ongoing concern for my wellbeing is most flattering- although I must say it encourages much whimsicalness on my part! I find myself drifting off at the most inopportune moments, lost in thought over your gentle words and your determination to reach out to a woman in need regardless of the obstacles between us._

 _As to what I grieve for, it is nothing extravagant or secretive- I grieve for my family, snatched from me one by one as fate conspires against us. Good fortune ever feels hollow when there is no one beside you to celebrate. And I take no offence to your questions, Dear Friend; after all, you of all people are heartily deserving of my answers! Perhaps you will indulge me and tell me something of yourself, to even the deck?_

 _Affectionately, An Anonymous Lady_

Cullen ground his teeth at the evasive tone of the missive and threw it on the desk. Surely she was onto him- surely he had pushed too much too soon, and she grew leery of revealing anything out of turn to her mysterious supporter.

And if he'd thought her flirtatious in the last letter, this was nothing short of coquettish. Giddy was certainly the best word to describe her, if her character could really be determined through these pages. But what if it was an act? What if she was merely trying to throw him off with her affectionate nature and her elusive replies? Her ongoing refusal to sign her letters was so very incriminating, and he knew in his gut that she was hiding something.

Gritting his teeth, he tied the two letters together with a length of string and dropped them into his top drawer before he sat back to consider his next move. Perhaps he'd have to be a little more forward, matching her enthusiasm and affection until she felt comfortable enough to share her secrets.

***

Marian wove through the crowd that was slowly filtering down the grand staircase of the Chantry, feeling remarkably like a salmon trying to make its way upstream. There was a Sister on the door, and she smiled warmly at Marian as she drew near to the door. "Blessings of the Maker upon you, Lady Hawke," she said. "I'm afraid you've missed the service today. Was there something I could help you with?"

"Your blessings are enough," Marian said, nodding respectfully. "I just wanted to spend a few minutes alone." The Sister waved her through; she stepped around the last of the stragglers and made her way to the upstairs viewing platform which was blessedly empty. Stopping before the statue of Andraste, she took three small red candles from her satchel and knelt to borrow the flame from one of the burning tapers at the idol's feet. She placed her three little candles amongst the mass of red wax, bowing her head for a moment as she did so.

"Papa," she murmured, touching a finger to the first candle. After a long pause, she touched the second. "Carver." She hesitated for the longest time before touching a trembling hand to the final candle. "Bethany."

Each candle represented a life cut short- each representing a failure on her part, for even if Bethany still lived, they were all lost to her. Bethany, trapped in the Circle as she was, never able to marry or feel loved or have a family, had lost her life as easily as Carver had, even if she was still alive. If only she'd worked harder to get the money for the expedition, if only she'd walked a little faster coming back home, if only she'd fought instead of standing there like a stunned idiot when she'd found Bethany being escorted from their home by Templars... by _him_ ...

She gritted her teeth and wiped away the tears on her cheeks. "And if wishes were fishes, they'd fill up the sea," she muttered mockingly. Sniffing in a very unladylike fashion, she fought to collect herself before making her way over to the empty pews and slumping down in the back row. She still liked coming, for Bethany's sake, even if she couldn't bear to sit through the sermons anymore. The smells of incense and candle smoke and linen were familiar, smells that seemed to conjure up images of her sister, so she sat in the dimmed hall and let the memories gather.

He moved remarkably quietly for man ensconced in an absurd amount of armour, and she had almost no warning before a shadow fell over her. Thinking it to be another one of the Sisters, she turned her head with a smile- and froze when she saw Cullen standing behind her.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Hawke," he said by way of greeting. Funny how he managed to make something as simple as her name sound like the most grievous insult ever.

Bristling, she turned away from him. "Pompous ass," she said pleasantly.

He let the slur pass. "You are not the sort I would expect to see lurking in these halls. Learning the weaknesses of your enemy, are you?"

There were already new tears burning in her eyes as she climbed to her feet and snapped "Just because I don't write mages off as slavering lunatics with a penchant for slaughter and mayhem doesn't mean that I can't find solace in the House of the Maker." She pulled her satchel over her head with jerky movements and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before she turned to face him. Something flickered through his expression when he saw the raw emotion on her face. "And if I wanted to learn the weakness of my enemy I'd spend my time stalking _you_."

 _Oh, stupid thing to say, Marian._

She couldn't tell who was more shocked by her outburst- Cullen or herself. Feeling her face flush bright red, she stammered "I... I, um, I should go."

Hurrying for the stairs, her nerves stole whatever semblance of grace she cobbled together and she tripped over her own feet. She landed with a curse, bruising her hip as she lay face down on the soft carpet of the Chantry. She wished with every fibre of her being for there to be anyone other than Cullen standing behind her when she stood.

Then the strangest thing happened. A hand appeared on her arm, and she looked up to see him kneeling beside her. "Let me help you up," he said, a wry smile on his face.

"I don't need your help," she stammered, but it was too late- he was already pulling her upright with surprising gentleness. The moment she had some semblance of balance back she tried to pull away, but his grip turned firm.

"I have tried to be patient with you, Marian," he said softly, in a voice that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. His hand, even through the leather of his gloves and the linen of her tunic, seemed to burn her skin. "But I will not tolerate your quiet subversion of my duties. You will end this foolishness, or you will incur the wrath of the Templar order."

He'd never stood this close to her before, and before she could stop herself, she found her mouth opening and-

"You have nice eyes," she blurted out, then immediately covered her mouth in horror with her free hand.

Stunned didn't even begin to describe the look on his face in that instant. "My... what?"

 _You've outdone yourself this time Marian_ , she thought in a panic. When she wrenched her arm free, he didn't try to stop her this time. "Nothing! Nothing, nothing at all! Just-" She frantically latched onto the first thought that flitted past. "You're so easy to fluster. I have no time to put up with your tedious arguments again, so why not use the weapons available to me?"

The embarrassed flush to his cheeks didn't quite disappear as he frowned at her. "Marian," he began warningly.

She was walking backwards, trying to make it look like she wasn't fleeing cowardly. "We can't say anything civil to one another, Cullen, so let's not bother. I'll just... um... you know what, I'll go now. Goodbye."

She fled with the scraps of her dignity, not daring to stop for a breath until the heavy doors slammed closed behind her. She could feel his eyes burning into her back right up until the last second, and she fought the urge to turn around and stare back, try to unnerve him as he was unnerving her.

" _You have nice eyes,_ " she muttered mockingly. It didn't matter that he did have nice eyes, immensely nice eyes; she'd go so far as to say gorgeous eyes. "Oh, well done, Marian. Outstanding effort; now the smug bastard will think I'm attracted to him and he'll start being all _charming._ " Her stomach flip flopped at the thought.

Now that the crowds had dispersed, it was easier for her to remove the brick without anyone the wiser. She casually slipped her hand into the small gap, fingers closing around a new piece of paper and she resisted the urge to dance on the spot. Slipping the letter into her pocket, she replaced the brick and hurried through the streets to home, glad at least that she had someone in her life- however mysterious he was- who could always bring a smile to her face and make her feel purposeful again. The moment the door was swinging closed behind her, the letter was back in her hand, the seal broken as she quickly scanned the familiar handwriting.

 _My Dear Lady,_

 _I am heartily glad that my questions caused no offence. It would grieve me to think of our correspondence ending because of some ill thought word on my part. And I find a smile gracing my own face at the thought of you giddy with anticipation for the joy my letters bring you. It is a sentiment I can assure you is mutual- your own sweet nature is evident through these pages, and I look forward to your letters immensely._

 _Now, to something more personal- since you were honest about your own family, I will tell you of mine. I lost my home when I was quite young, so the loss you speak of is no longer so familiar to me. I remember snippets of them though- my mother, baking something sweet and offering me tastes, a brother who smelled of the outdoors._

 _Most of what I remember is tactile- smells and tastes and colours. I cannot remember everything, like the sound of their voices. I wonder if I should grieve them more, but the memory is so old, the pain dull..._

 _As to something personal to confess to, I am not sure what you would expect- I am fond of sugared almonds, a most unmanly thing to admit to I'm sure. Will that suffice as a desperately dark and sordid secret?_

 _Affectionately, Your Concerned Friend._

***

It was a few days before Cullen could find his way back into the city to see if a response had been delivered to his last letter. He didn't really doubt it, though- the woman he was corresponding with was either remarkably crafty and just as determined to lure him into her web as he was to ensnare her, or she was desperately in need of simple human affection. If it was the first, all well and good- the game was underway and he would use whatever means necessary to catch her and bring her to justice.

If it was the second... his gut twisted a little at the genuine warmth and affection that was evident in every pen-stroke. Whoever she was, did he really have the fortitude to turn on such a gentle soul if she did in fact turn out to be a mage? She was so very open, and he was beginning to suspect that all of her little flirtations and the tangible joy were in fact her true character. This... bubbliness, these shy attempts at being playful... the more he read over the letters to find some clue to her identity, the more he became convinced that she was completely genuine. No trap, no snares, no attempts at being elaborate- this woman possessed a simple joy that he was stunned to find had him smiling indulgently whenever his thoughts drifted back to her.

On that thought, he fought the stupid grin trying to break through his stoic Knight Captain façade as he stopped beside the Chanter's Board and noticed the way the brick sat just slightly askew. Waiting until nobody was watching, he slid it aside and reached into the gap, searching for the letter. He snatched his fingers back when they brushed against something lumpy and not at all letter shaped.

 _My Affectionate Friend,_

 _I hope you will not think me too bold for my little gift, but I could not help myself. If anyone is deserving of gifts, it is surely a man who takes the time to brighten the day of a woman he does not know from any other face on the street. There is a delightful sweets store just off of the Hightown Market- I am particularly fond of their honey nougat, among others- and at your terribly sordid confession I ran straight there to buy as many sugared almonds as I could with the coin in my pocket._

 _Alas, they do not fit all that well into our little nook, and I doubt that a bag of sweets would last long enough for you to find it if I pinned it to the Chanter's Board, so I shall just have to stretch out the temptation for you._

 _Maker, how wretched am I that I feel the need to bribe someone just to talk to me? I hope I do not cause offense, or come across as insensitive, or cloying. It is just that I have had such an awful day, and it is nice to talk to someone who appears to care for my wellbeing. I had a run in with a friend, and well, let me just say that I have met ogres with courtlier manners than this gentleman. If he indeed still qualifies for the title of gentleman and not simply Colossal Wretch; the entire incident has unnerved me quite badly. I wish that you were real, for I find myself sorely in need of a hug right now. Wait, what am I saying? You are real- entirely so. And now I have just made a bigger fool of myself, implying at once that you are imaginary, and that you would be inclined to hug strange women who are clearly not in their right mind._

 _I will stop writing now, before I die of embarrassment._

 _Apologetically, A Lady_

Cullen stared at the little silk pouch in his hand, then to the letter. Then back to the bundle. He knew he should throw it away, that he should have it tested for poison or malignant spells; he knew that he should immediately head to the sweets shop she spoke of and demand the sales records for the last few days. He should track down anyone who had seen on ogre during the Blight. But...

No one had ever given him a gift in... well, as long as he could remember. He had no idea when his Name Day was, and Templars were not as a rule a jovial, celebratory bunch. And this strange woman, who babbled and giggled through her letters to him, who corrected herself in the most amusing fashion as if she were arguing with herself, who expressed a desire to have him hold and comfort her as if he were any other man- she had given him a gift without even blinking. By her own words, she had rushed straight out after receiving his letter.

"Lady Hawke's package has been sitting here for two days. Should we send someone to deliver it to her?"

The conversation broke him out of his confused self-examination as he debated his sudden reluctance to hunt this woman down. At the mention of Hawke, the very antithesis of the gentle woman in these letters, he frowned and looked up. Two Chantry Sisters were standing nearby, one of them with a box tucked under her arm. "Is something the matter, ladies?" First to find Hawke slouched miserably in the back of the Chantry as if she were a regular visitor, and now to find that she was receiving parcels as well? Something about that sat ill with him.

The Sisters nodded their heads as a mark of respect, before the one holding the box said "Nothing terribly amiss, Knight Captain. It's just that Lady Hawke is usually quite prompt in collecting her order. We were debating the need to send her a reminder."

The discovery of the bag of sweets had put him in a good mood, so he found himself saying "I'll take it. Hawke Manor is on my way back towards the harbour anyway." He could put up with Marian and her oddities for five minutes before he headed home to the Gallows- and perhaps learn why she seemed to be on such familiar terms with the Chantry folk. The Sisters thanked him profusely, handing over the small box without question.

When he knocked on the door of Hawke Manor, he began to regret the offer to help when it appeared that no one was home. What was he supposed to do with the package now- just leave it on the doorstep? Just as he was about to give up, the door cracked open and a curious face peered out at him.

"Hallo," the dwarf said, waving his hand slowly with a somewhat vacant smile on his face.

"Er... hello?" The little fellow continued to stand in the doorway, staring beatifically at him. "Is Lady Hawke at home?"

The dwarf stared for a moment longer before standing to the side and pointing down a side hallway.

At the back of the house, Marian had converted a ballroom into a training space, surely a scandalous use of the room to anyone else in Hightown, but he could certainly see the practicality in such a move. It wasn't like she had a yard to train in, so it made sense. He paused in the doorway, taking in the mannequins in various stages of devastation, the deep scratches and grooves in the polished wooden floor, and most surprisingly the charts depicting sword training techniques pinned to the walls and the accompanying chalk marks that spread across the floor in confusing arrows and circles.

Movement caught his eye, and he finally spotted the lady of the house, her back to him as she bent over an open book on a work bench that was covered in rusted armour and weaponry, and all manner of bottled liquids and rags. She had hooked one foot around the calf of her other leg, running it up and down slowly as her fingers drummed the table. A great sword was propped up beside her, surely not her weapon of choice, for the thing was nearly as long as she was tall.

Cullen went to step into the room, and opened his mouth to call out to her, when she sighed and muttered a curse that had him gaping in astonishment before she leaned further over the table. He immediately felt a corresponding surge in his blood as her pose exaggerated her hips and her ass and the long, teasing length of her legs. He'd always found Marian to be decidedly tomboyish, with her lanky frame and her messily cropped hair, but the angle of her body at that moment- the curve of her hips, the dip in the small of her back, the unholy length of her legs- told his traitorous body in no uncertain terms that Marian Hawke was most _definitely_ female. And a desirable one at that.

While he stood dumbfounded, she straightened quickly and hefted the sword beside her with a deftness that spoke of more than a passing familiarity with the huge weapon. She didn't seem to notice him as she walked instead with her head down, following the chalk lines before she stood before a mannequin equipped with- he blinked in surprise. The mannequin had a necklace draped over its shoulders, and now that he wasn't fixated on Marian bloody Hawke's intriguing figure he could feel the faint throb of magic coming from the item.

Now that the necklace had his attention it set his teeth on edge, the magic pulling uncomfortably at the lyrium in his blood. Once again he opened his mouth to speak, to warn her of the malignant enchantment on the jewel, when she lifted her hand towards it in a defensive gesture.

He felt the pulse in the air, saw her hair fly up as if caught in some invisible wind. And then the magic on the necklace was _gone_.

Marian had purged the spell, as if it had never been there at all.

The words burst from him before he had a chance to control the surge of anger within him. "You're a Templar!"

The sword clattered from her hand as she spun about in alarm, a strangled gasp breaking from her. Her eyes widened when she saw him stalking towards her and she backed up quickly. " _What-_ "

"A Templar," he snarled, following her retreat. She squeaked in alarm when she hit the table, her head spinning quickly side to side as if she was looking for an escape but he was too swift; he caged her against the bench, blocking her escape with hands planted either side of her. She stiffened in obvious panic as he leaned in closer. " _You_ , Marian, are Templar trained. That's not a skill you can just stumble across by yourself, even given the amount of stumbling you do."

A flicker of hurt flashed through her- _exquisitely blue_ \- eyes before she ducked her head. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said desperately.

"You just cleansed an item of a malignant spell," he said, ignoring the way his gut twisted with guilt at the pain he'd glimpsed in her  _magnificent, gorgeous, piercingly blue_ \- eyes. "Someone taught you a little more than the basics, Marian. You've had at least three years of training, which means you've abandoned your vows. My question is-"

"I never abandoned my vows," she snapped, the words falling out of her in a rush. She stopped just as abruptly and then barked out a laugh that seemed full of self-loathing. "Or at least, I never abandoned any vows that I made in earnest. I only took up the training under sufferance."

His eyes narrowed, although the glare did nothing when she still refused to look up at him. "Explain yourself, Hawke."

She crossed her arms tightly, as if she were hugging herself. "I only did it to protect Bethany, to draw suspicion away from our family," she said quietly. "In Lothering, we were... well, it wasn't a big place, and we didn't want the Templars paying too much attention to us. It hardly seemed like the thing a family of apostates would do, sending their eldest off to learn how to hunt mages."

Several things began to fall into place in his head. "That's how you kept her from being discovered for so long as well," he said slowly, his anger building. "You used the training to keep her hidden. You knew how we hunted."

Her laugh was bitter. "Aye, I did at that. I took everything I was taught and I twisted it to be as useful as possible in keeping her free from that damned prison- for all the good it did."

He snarled and shoved her backwards; when she hit the table her eyes finally flew up to his, fear and anger and alarm in her- _beautiful, tear filled_ \- eyes. "You betrayed your Order. You broke your vows, and betrayed your duty to the Maker!"

"The only one I betrayed was my sister by not defending her from _you_ ," she hissed; a tear slipped onto her cheek, and the next breath she took was tremulous. A second tear fell. "Bethany means more to me than your make believe god ever will!"

He'd faced blood mages and abominations; he'd survived torture and demon attacks and magical uprisings. All of that paled into insignificance compared to seeing a proud woman like Marian Hawke reduced to tears from his spiteful words. If someone had jammed a knife through his ribs and into his heart it probably would have hurt less.

"Ser Hawke," he said instead, ignoring the way his chest tightened painfully with guilt, "you have abandoned your duties, a crime punishable by death. If you return to your post immediately, any punishment will be waived."

She laughed incredulously, and tried to push against his armour. "Sod off, Cullen. I'm no more a Templar than you are a maleficar. I'll not dance to your tune, and I'm not following you back to the Gallows like a good little girl."

"Marian," he said warningly, but he didn't get to finish.

She shoved harder, and he staggered back a step, giving her room to escape. "Oh Maker, you insufferable man! How do you not understand this? I _hate_ you, and the last thing I would ever, ever do is follow you obediently back to the Gallows to become your poster child!"

"Marian-"

"Don't you 'Marian' me! Get out of my house, Cullen! I never want to see you ever again unless you come to apologise and bring me back Bethany!"

***

 _My Dear Lady,_

 _Please do not feel the need to apologise on my account. I heartily concur that sometimes it is nice to speak with someone that you know will offer nothing but comfort and laughter in return. Sometimes with the challenges we face daily, having the support of a dear friend is all that can keep us from locking ourselves in our rooms and refusing to come out._

 _On the subject of friends, you have my sincerest sympathies in regards to the gentleman who has caused you such distress. Were I you, I would simply ignore him, or cut him off from your delightful company. Surely the thought of being without you for even the smallest amount of time will leave him bereft and stammering his apologies in no time at all. I know the pain that you go through with insensitive acquaintances- I myself am struggling with a woman who is as stubborn as a Mabari holding onto the last of his supper. She refuses to consider the consequences of her actions, and I am left to pick up the pieces left over from her foolhardiness. Would that she possessed even a fraction of your grace and civility; at least then I might be able to have a rational conversation with her._

 _And while I think of it, my lovely lady, may I offer up my eternal gratitude that you thought to spend your hard earned coin on a gift for me? The very idea that I am deserving of anything I believe I can now say that the giddiness is not one sided, my dear. Your thoughtfulness has touched a chord within me; you can rest assured that were I real- as you so charmingly suggested- I would have no issue in offering as many hugs as you felt that you needed. It pains me to think that someone has caused you distress, and I wish that there was more I could do for you. I know that it is hardly safe to commit such things to paper, but if you ever felt the need to confide in me I will ever be an attentive listener._

 _Affectionately, Your Friend._

Cullen stared at the letter, his third rewrite, before sighing and folding the damned thing ready to take across the harbour to the hiding place. It sounded too flirtatious, and she would surely see right through this charade in a heartbeat. The worst part was, though, just how natural it had felt writing teasing words to a woman he had never even met. He couldn't risk the temptation of finding himself attracted to her; his role in Kirkwall was too important for him to be distracted by feelings for a woman. That didn't change the way he found himself grinning like an idiot whenever her words drifted through his head.

This was turning into not such a brilliant plan after all.

***

Marian pressed her face into the pillow, trying to muffle her sobs as she clutched the letter to her chest. "Why can't you be real?" she whimpered, curling up on the bed as she hugged the beautiful words to her. "Why do you have to be just some stranger with a pen, while I have to put up with crazy apostates and brooding elves and snotty nobles and bastard knights? Why can't I meet someone like you?"

There was a knock on her door and she sat up in alarm. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she called "Who is it?"

"Bodahn, messere Hawke. I have a letter here from the Knight Captain for you."

She sat up straighter. "What does it say?"

"You, ah, want me to open your mail, messere?" At her silence, he sighed, and she heard the crackling of paper. "Ser Hawke, I regret that our last words were spoken in anger. I wish to convey my apologies to you, and hope that you will be courteous enough to-"

She was already storming across the room; she ripped open the door and snatched the letter from his hands. It was only a handful more steps and then she was hurling the paper into the fire. "I don't ever want to see anything written by that man again!"


	3. Of Lust and Boundaries

The cave was freezing, and Marian could see her breath steaming in front of her face. "Are you sure about this, Anders?" she whispered, trying to keep her voice from echoing in the vast space.

"Positive," he hissed, his eyes already shining with that fanatical gleam she knew so well. She fought the urge to sigh, instead rubbing her temple with her free hand.

They were crouched behind an outcropping in one of the myriad tunnels beneath the city, waiting for a contact that Anders had made in the Coterie's lyrium smuggling arm. He'd only reluctantly asked her along, after she'd realised he was up to something illegal and potentially dangerous and insisted on helping. At least he'd been sensible enough to relent and let her come- and he had two companions with him that he'd refused to introduce and who glared openly at her even when she stared back, so he wouldn't have been alone. That was something, at least.

She glanced around again. "It's just that they're thirty minutes late, and-"

"I know what I'm doing, Hawke," he snapped, his jaw clenching when he realised how loud he'd been. He took a moment to visibly calm himself. "I know what I'm doing," he repeated, quieter now. "Just... let me be the one to worry, okay?"

She smiled despite herself and laid her hand on his where it rested on the rock. He didn't seem to notice. "I'm not allowed to worry about a dear friend?" she asked softly.

"Someone's coming," he said as a response, pulling his hand from hers and standing; now she was the one gritting her teeth as he blatantly ignored her gentle attempt at flirting. Again. Forcing her small bout of pique to the back of her thoughts, she stood with him and followed him out into the narrow space in the centre of the chamber.

A single man was standing beside a crate, seemingly alone. Marian knew better than to trust that they would be so lucky, and kept her eyes peeled for trouble. She thought she could see an archer up on one of the higher levels, but he was hidden in shadows so deep that she couldn't be sure.

When Anders came to a stop, Marian stopped beside him, glancing between him and the smuggler. She'd never done anything with the Underground before, and she had no idea what to expect. Would there be codes, secret names, riddles?

"Do you have the lyrium?" Anders said sharply.

Apparently not.

"Aye, we got your moon sauce," the man said with a sneer, the street name given to the lyrium because of its peculiar silver-blue colour that was so similar to the full moon. The man spat on the ground near their feet; Marian narrowed her eyes at the disgusting wretch but Anders didn't seem to care. "You got our shiny?"

Anders fished a pouch from inside his jacket and tossed it to the smuggler. He caught it, hefting it in his hand as if to weigh it, before fishing a piece out and biting down to test for quality. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he tucked the pouch out of sight. "See, here's the thing- I'm thinking yer gold might not be good for much anymore. Might be I think we need more."

She felt Anders tense beside her, and put a hand on his arm warningly. "What do you mean?" she said coldly, the part of icy Hightown bitch coming easily to her in that moment. "We've paid you the price you asked. Give us the lyrium, before I decide your head would look better down near your feet."

The smuggler chuckled. "Maybe I'm not interested in your gold, missy. Maybe I'm more interested in what the Templars had to offer when we told them we could hand 'em a couple of little runaway mages."

She felt her stomach drop. "It's a trap!" she cried, tearing her sword free from her sheathe; she quickly scanned the cavern, counting the shadows that were human shaped. Spinning back to the mages, she hissed "Go! There's too many of them!"

Anders was pulling his staff free. "You _idiot!_ " she hissed, pushing him down the tunnel and away from the approaching shadows. "They will _kill_ you, Anders! Go- I'll give you a head start at the very least!"

She didn't look to see if he was doing as he was told. Gripping her greatsword firmly, she adjusted her balance and swung around, bringing the sword in an unstoppable arc. Just as promised, the smuggler's head went bouncing away across the ground, as his body crumpled in a torrent of blood.

And then the rest were on her.

***

Cullen was leading his men down one of the twisting tunnels towards the rendezvous with the Coterie, when the sounds of battle began echoing through the cavern. Gritting his jaw in frustration, he unsheathed his sword and signalled for the men behind him to follow suit. Picking up speed, he cursed those idiot smugglers under his breath for ruining what should have been a perfect setup; the sounds of battle grew louder, and he began to make out a very familiar female voice amongst the melee...

"Oh, Maker, don't let it be her," he muttered, before dashing around the last corner and into the rendezvous point.

Marian was surrounded by Coterie- or more accurately, Coterie bodies. She was like a dervish, spinning and slashing faster than he would have thought possible with a weapon that size. He'd never seen a woman wielding a greatsword before, and in her hands the brutish sword seemed almost graceful. She moved like a lethal dancer, always moving, never pausing even when another sword nicked at her elbow, or a dagger grazed her ribs. With her eyes blazing and her mouth curled in a snarl, there was something spectacularly beautiful about her...

...and that was not a good thing when he assumed he was here to arrest apostates and instead found Marian Hawke laying waste to the Coterie as if they were rag dolls. And looking like some heathen goddess of war while she did so.

"The Templars are here! Run!"

The shout distracted her for a moment and she spun about, losing her balance marginally as her rhythm faltered. Her eyes locked with his across the cavern and he felt a jolt of fierce desire for her, this passionate warrior woman, and he felt certain he saw the same flare in her eyes.

The distraction was brief, but it was all the Coterie needed. He saw her stagger forward wildly, a shocked look flitting over her face and she dropped to one knee. He was already running, unconcerned about the smugglers who were disappearing into the cracks and chasms like mice fleeing from the light. The shock on her face was morphing into pain, and her mouth fell open with a strangled cry as her hand went awkwardly over the opposite shoulder, the motion too much for her. She fell forward onto her hands and knees as he reached her, gasping and sobbing in pain, and the reason for her fall was revealed.

Blood was blooming over her leathers like some macabre flower; a massive arrow was protruding from her shoulder, the shaft as wide across as his thumb. Just looking at it made his stomach turn over in horror. "Marian," he said, kneeling quickly beside her. "Marian, are you alright?"

She barked a laugh that seemed to verge on hysterical. "What the _fuck_ do you think, Cullen?"

He looked up and gestured at the retreating figures of the Coterie. "Chase after them," he said to the three men with him. "See if you can catch anyone- I'll be happy with apostates or lyrium smugglers." _But most particularly, find me the damned archer who did this._ He didn't look to see if his instructions were being obeyed, just assumed that they were; instead he turned back to Marian, alarmed to see how pale she'd gone, and the way her teeth chattered violently.

He shifted closer to her and placed one hand carefully beside the arrow. "I'll try and get it out," he said. "You may want to brace yourself."

She let out a keening noise that was remarkably distressing to hear. "Just get it out," she whispered.

Grasping the shaft as carefully as he could- she still let out a sob- he snapped it as cleanly as he could; she shrieked and tried to pull away but his hand slid quickly to her hip and held her in place beside him. "Holy sweet fucking Maker," she panted, each word punctuated with a pained sob. "Flaming fucking prophet... _fuck._ "

He lifted his eyes to the roof of the cavern as if searching for patience amongst the stalactites. Her cussing was completely rational given the situation; it didn't mean he had to approve. Taking a deep breath, he didn't warn her before he shoved the remains of the arrow right through her shoulder; she opened her mouth to scream, but he was already grasping the blood slicked barb and pulling it through beneath her collarbone.

Marian wailed and slumped down onto the ground, gasping for breath in great heaving shudders. Cullen quickly set the broken arrow aside and reached for her; she batted weakly at his hands but he ignored her, pulling her leather armour open to expose her undershirt. "Usually my rule is not until after the third date," she rasped, her face alarmingly pale as he turned her onto her back and dragged her across his lap. The small trace of humour vanished as she gritted her teeth and writhed in agony. "Maker, it burns like _fire._ "

"Can you keep your hand here?" Now seemed an utterly inappropriate moment to notice the pale curve of her neck and the smooth skin across her shoulder, bared to his gaze, but it was hard not to notice, really. He took her hand in his and pressed it to the gaping wound. "Just keep the pressure on it and you'll be alright."

She moaned, her eyes clenched tightly closed. " _It hurts!_ "

"I'm sure it does," he said absently, trying to maintain some sense of professional aloofness. He reached for a pack, dropped by one of his men as they raced after the mages and the smugglers, but picked up the arrow instead. It was dark and sticky- and not just with blood. Holding it up to his nose, he cursed at the bitter scent that was immediately distinguishable from the coppery tang of her blood. "Magebane. They weren't looking to take any prisoners."

Marian made a strangled moan. "I've been _poisoned?_ "

"You'll be fine, Marian," he said, tossing the arrow far across the cavern just to be safe. "Magebane won't kill anyone except a mage, and even then it has to be a fairly high dosage."

She didn't seem to hear him. "I don't want to die," she whimpered, the tears running hot and fast as she felt panic surge through her. She choked on a sob. "I don't want to die, alone, in a cave with no friends."

Cullen managed a tight smile for her sake as he rummaged around in his pack for something appropriate to put on the wound. "You're not going to die, Marian," he said, trying to keep pressure on the arrow wound from both sides with his hand and his knee. "If you died, I'd have to find someone else to yell at me every second day, and the recruitment process for that is exceedingly tedious."

She managed a watery laugh, the sound quickly dissolving fresh tears. "Oh, Maker, it _burns,_ " she moaned, her back arching as she fought his hold on her.

Somehow he managed to keep her pinned down, though his hand slipped a little and a fresh torrent of blood welled up on her shoulder between his fingers. "It's just the magebane, Marian," he said soothingly, finally finding a poultice that would undermine the poison in her. "It's just reacting to the lyrium in your blood- but you shouldn't have levels high enough to kill you. It'll just make things unpleasant for the next few hours."

" _Gngh,_ " she said by way of response, her eyes slamming shut as he slathered the linctus on her injured shoulder. She threw her head back as she moaned from between clenched teeth.

The poison was not really of any concern to him, but the wound was. Blood was still welling up from the hole in her shoulder, and dripping down her back onto his knees; he had to get her to help, before it was too late. She seemed to realise his intentions when he slid his arms gently under her.

"No," she muttered weakly, batting at his hands ineffectually. "You can't take me back. Too heavy."

It took a moment for her words to make sense and he couldn't help but chuckle. "You are most assuredly not too heavy, Marian," he said; to illustrate the point he hefted her easily in his arms, careful not to jostle her wound. "You're no more daunting that a sapling."

Her lips twitched a little, as if she wanted to smile. "Screw you, Captain. I'm terrifying." Her head drooped towards his shoulder, and hindered by the elaborate pauldrons on his armour she instead slumped against his chest. Her forehead was pressed into his neck and she started to shiver before he'd even taken half a dozen steps.

Her breathing had grown laboured by the time they reached the crowded tunnels that made up Darktown, and she fumbled in her pocket with her good hand for a brass key that she gave to him with instructions on how to get into the cellars beneath her house.

***

He'd never thought to find himself in a woman's bedroom ever again. The vows of a Templar did not technically require chastity, but neither was it easy to pursue pleasure and the comfort of loved ones. How was one supposed to engage in a meaningful relationship when duty demanded so often that life must be spent either locked away with his mage charges, or in the constant hunt of them? There was no room in the days and nights of a Templar, particularly a Knight Captain, for a wife or lover, even if he did regret the emptiness sometimes in the darkness after midnight.

Marian's room smelled like her; that in itself was not so much of shock. More so the fact that he recognised instantly the scent as her own, the fact that he breathed deeply as if recognising a familiar and comforting smell- that was the shock.

Her mother and her manservant hovered in a panic as he laid her gently on the bed, gritting his teeth when the movement wrenched a moan from her. They fetched him everything he requested; surprisingly Marian herself was the one to object the most when he tried to peel her shirt away from the wound. "Do you want me to help you or not, Marian?"

She swallowed uncomfortably, eyes drifting shut, but whether it was from pain or embarrassment he didn't know. "It hardly seems fair if I take my clothes off and you get to stay fully dressed."

"You want me to take my clothes off?" He was trying for something light, to make her smile, but the question came out with far more weight than he intended. When the skin was adequately bared, he pushed a towel under her shoulder to staunch the worst of the blood flow at the back, while he had her mother hold one to the front.

"Heh, perhaps some other time when my mother isn't watching I'll take you up on that."

"Marian!" Leandra looked mortified; her expression only grew worse when he had the manservant help him to shuck the most bulky of his plate armour.

Her response was very faint when she finally replied. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Verbally undressing Templars while I'm dying is a social faux pas. I'll try not to forget that for next time."

His armour set to the side, and clad only in his breeches and a linen shirt, he slid onto the bed and pulled her over his knees again- only this time he was armed with a steel needle and a length of catgut. The moment the needle pierced her skin she cried out; she didn't fight him though. He could see how much she fought herself, straining to keep still and not disrupt his work; for some reason the tears on her cheeks were causing him more pain than if she had physically fought his hold on her.

"Why?" she managed to rasp at one point. They were alone in the room, Leandra and Bodahn having dashed off for hot water, elfroot and more towels.

"I would have thought it was fairly obvious why, Marian," he said patiently.

Her hand appeared over his, stilling the needle. "Why are you helping me?" she amended, her piercing blue eyes so full of agony and confusion as she stared up at him. "You don't _like_ me."

"I..." _Why was he helping her?_ "I have a duty of care: you are a Templar, and I am the Captain. It is my responsibility to see to the safety of all of the men and women under my command." It seemed a logical enough reason for what was increasingly seeming like a vastly illogical decision on his part. His growing desire to set down the needle and soothe her only proved that.

Her hand fell away after a moment, and her eyes drifted closed again; he continued with stitching the wound closed. She was biting into her lip to keep from crying out in pain, but roused enough to say "So, do you personally sit half naked with all your little recruits, or am I just lucky?"

He couldn't help but chuckle a little at her pluck, still prodding at him even while he had her at his mercy. "Just ever so lucky," he said, tying off the string at the front and cutting the excess. He indicated for her to roll over, and with a whimper of pain she did so. "You should be thankful that I know enough basic field surgery to tend to you in the first place. It's not exactly a quick trip across the harbour to see a healer."

She was slumped across his lap, and he was trying very hard not to notice how warm her skin was, and how the swell her breasts pressed into his leg.

"And why is that?" she murmured, thankfully diverting his attention away from the glorious expanse of her back and the muscles her toned form suggested at and the way her skin dipped down towards the alluring hollow at the base of- "Cullen?"

He blinked and fought to get his thoughts back on track. "I don't like healing magically," he said, hoping she wouldn't notice the slight rasp to his voice. "And it does you no good to grow reliant on a mage, for there will always be a time when you have only your own quick wits to save you."

Her hand was resting on his knee, and he could have sworn that she nuzzled against his leg, as if she were making herself more comfortable. _Ridiculous, you're stabbing her with a shard of metal; she's probably just in pain._ She surprised him by chuckling softly. "I would make some cutting remark about my already stunning wit, but I'm afraid I feel too light headed from the blood loss to think of anything funny. Plus, I'm lying face down in your lap, and that's more than a little distracting."

It was as if someone had set fire to his blood. " _Marian,_ " he stammered, clenching his suddenly shaking fingers into fists so that he didn't injure her with the needle.

She chuckled again, the sound weaker. "Sorry. It's been a while since anyone's touched me, even platonically. I forgot how nice it was, the warmth and smell of another body."

 _So had I._ "This is hardly the time to be considering such things, Marian," he said sternly, biting down fiercely on his tongue to stop the rampant flow of images flooding his head; he could feel blood surging in his groin, the heat building in his cock as he fought to control himself. With her lying so close, she was sure to notice if he let himself grow any more aroused. With precise, impersonal movements he quickly finished off the stitching and tied off the ends. She murmured a soft protest when he eased himself away from her, but her eyes were closed and she didn't stir again.

He couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

Leandra startled him in the hallway, seeming to appear almost as if from thin air once the door had quietly closed behind him. "I've had a bath drawn for you in one of the spare rooms," she said quietly. "If you'd like to get out of those bloodied clothes, we'll see if we can't find you something clean to wear in the meantime."

He glanced down at himself; he was quite liberally drenched in Marian's blood. Not a spectacle that Kirkwall would soon forget, if he ventured outside. "That would be... thank you, Lady Hawke. I appreciate your hospitality."

She eyed him carefully. "And I appreciate your chivalry towards _one_ of my daughters, at the very least," she said in a very neutral tone. Before he could respond, she was disappearing in the opposite direction, calling over her shoulder "The very last door on the right, you'll find everything you should need to clean yourself. If you have any further concerns, please don't hesitate to call for Bodahn."

With a growl of frustration, Cullen stalked down the hallway and let himself into the room she had indicated. So now despite his efforts to help Marian, he was still to be reminded how loathed he was beneath this roof simply for doing his Maker appointed task? It was infuriating, to say the least. There was indeed a steaming bath sitting ready in the small washroom off the main room; the blood was beginning to feel cloying and cold and sticky, and he very gratefully began to strip off his soiled garments. This had started out as a bad day and had quickly metamorphosed into a catastrophic day; not only had the ambush been sprung early, he now likely had the Coterie to contend with in the coming weeks as well.

He was unlacing his breeches when he felt an unfamiliar lump in his side pocket; with a flash of insight he remembered stopping by the Chantry and retrieving a new letter. He hadn't had a private moment to read it... until now.

He fished it out, feeling a pang of regret at the few little blooms of red that had marred the crisp white paper.

 _My Affectionate Friend,_

 _Anonymity grants me the audacity that I lack in the flesh, so forgive me if my words seem too bold. From your last letter, I cannot help but confess that my thoughts have often strayed to you, and I find myself wondering what manner of man you are, and perhaps what manner of lover you are._

Oh, Maker's Breath.

***

He was standing beside a quaint little bureau, and his hand was gripping the back of the matching chair until the wood whined from the strength of his hold. His knuckles had gone white.

 _I think I would find you a more than adequate lover, my dearly affectionate Friend, were such things a topic on which I was more learned. That is not to say I have not known a lover's touch before, more that I hardly think my limited experiences can mark me in any way as knowledgeable on such things. Was that perhaps too personal a confession? Ah well, I have already taken the coward's way and elected to hide behind my pseudonym. I find myself fascinated by thoughts of you, and I cannot apologise for my bold words. Your words, as it were, convey a man with a gentle but firm hand, one who is not afraid to be in control of his lover's pleasure._

He groaned desperately, the fire in his blood surging out into his flesh. His skin felt too tight, hot and sensitive and far too desperate for a woman's touch; this mysterious woman who haunted his thoughts without even a hint of physical features for him to obsess over, with her bold, tempting words, was far more brazen than he would have given her credit for.

 _I cannot help but wonder who you are, what you look like. Are you pale and fair, as gentle and soft as your words themselves? Or are you dark and mysterious, as your enigmatic letters can be? I imagine many things, never quite satisfied with any; I imagine that you are one of those rare men who are capable of giving and receiving pleasure equally. Do you like to be the master in the bedroom, as it were, to command your lover's every move and caress until she is begging for your exquisite mercy? Or do you prefer to let her dominate in such affairs- are you able to appreciate a bold and adventurous lover, whose desires are wild and passionate and demanding?_

He let out a strangled moan, the words immediately conjuring all manner of explicit fantasies in his head. Oh, sweet flaming prophet, what manner of torture was this? Such sexual forwardness from a near stranger should have been horrifying, but instead he found himself cursing desperately that he did not have a face to imagine beneath him, her features twisted in rapturous abandon as he dragged out their lovemaking with agonising leisureliness. He hadn't lusted after a woman this passionately in years, and all this from the contents of a single letter

 _With such languorous, drugging thoughts drifting through me and filling me with unsatisfied warmth, I cannot help but wonder again who you are. What manner of man are you, my very Dear Friend, this man who occupies my thoughts more and more with each day? What manner of lover? My imagination goes wild at the possibilities therein, but possibilities are never enough in the dark of night when I am alone in bed with only my fingers for company._

"Oh, bloody Maker," he hissed; he was fumbling with the laces of his breeches with his free hand, desperate to free himself from pants that suddenly seemed painfully tight. The hand that still held the letter was shaking noticeably.

 _I lie awake at night, imagining the door inching open, hoping that I will hear the creak of the floorboards as you tiptoe across the room determined not to wake me. I imagine the bed sagging as you slide in beside me, the heat of your body curling around mine as you ease up behind me. Your hand will skim across my hip, intending to drag me closer; you will of course pause in surprise and delight when you find my hand already at work. I would not have been able to help myself, aching and desperate and needy for you._

He groaned, his mind awash with the thought of creeping into a dark room that smelled of sex and woman, of being expected and eagerly awaited by _his_ woman, this faceless temptress who sent him careening over the edge of rationality with a handful of erotic sentences. With his free hand he grasped himself, pumping furiously as he read on.

 _Your hand would replace mine, and you would find me more than ready for you, I assure you, hot and wet and desperate. Even now, my hand is trembling as I write, the need to soothe the fire you rouse in me growing more and more unbearable. Ah, Dear Friend, how I desperately wish you were here right now_

Was there a bigger idiot in all of Kirkwall? Here he was, almost naked in the home of a woman who despised him, a woman who he seemed to have trouble thinking of in a non-sexual manner, and who was currently unconscious after very likely stopping to foolishly defend apostates against the Coterie. He should have interrogated her, he shouldn't have stopped to tend to her; he definitely shouldn't have carried her home, treating her with gentle care and letting her soft curves affect him so desperately.

Maybe if he'd ignored her, left her in the cavern to do his duty and hunt down the maleficar that she had probably been protecting, he wouldn't be here now. Maybe he wouldn't be locked in a spare bedroom, thrusting frantically into his own hand as the erotic suggestions of a stranger seeped into his blood like some kind of maddening poison

 _But you are not here, my friend, and I have no one to take your place. The men of my acquaintance are nothing but self-possessed fools, some much more than others. One in particular grates on my patience more with each passing day; ah, but if only I could spend as much time in your company as I do in his! If only it were you disturbing my peace and my practise, and not some vainglorious narcissist- I would be more than happy for you to disturb me at any time of the day or night._

He was close now, his control shattered by a mere handful of sentences, and he clenched his jaw to keep from groaning hoarsely. He was still fixated on the image of finding her waiting for him in his bed, the scent of her infusing the sheets as he slid in behind her. As his pleasure mounted, bubbling towards the crest alarmingly quickly, his mind began to elaborate on the fantasy, building on it faster than he could stop himself. The room was dark, but not so dark that he couldn't see the dark crop of messy hair, a marvellous shadow against the crisp white of the pillow.

 _Oh, Maker, I will have to stop this madness soon, before my thoughts run away with me any further. My skin feels alive with sensation, and the lightest of touches could send me to marvellous heights right now. Just the rasp of cloth is enough to send shivers dancing across my skin._

He was pressed up against her, his arm draped over her hip and his hand buried in her wet heat just as she had described. She was writhing against him, her back pinned to his chest as he held her in place with his other arm, her ass rubbing against his cock until he felt lightheaded. He kissed desperately down her neck, along her shoulder, each one forceful enough to leave a mark that might not vanish with the morning.

 _Oh, Dear Friend, I... I feel I must stop, and deal with this before I go mad from desire. I wish you were here. All of this, every secret smile, every moan that I muffle with my pillow late at night, every time I bring myself to completion, alone and desperate... it's all for you. Oh Maker, I need you here right now. Like I have never, ever allowed myself to need another, I most assuredly need you. Perhaps I am just reaching out in desperation to a stranger because you are the first to show me affection and compassion and desire in such a long time, and so I have latched onto you with too much fervour._

He couldn't help the groan this time and the fantasy pulled him under. He could hear her every sigh and cry as if he were there in that room with her, as if it was in fact him dragging her into the heights of ecstasy and not her fingers. He plunged in and out of her, sliding his thigh between hers so that he had greater access to her. She threw her head back, mewling desperately as she ground herself against his hand before whispering his name into the darkness. And he did not stop to think before growling her name in response.

" _Marian._ "

 _I apologise for my bold words, but I cannot regret them. Just know that were you here with me right now, I would let you do whatever you wanted to me, for as long as you wanted. And I am desperately in need of five minutes alone in my bedroom now, before I lose myself in front of guests. I will be thinking of you._

 _Desperately, Your Lady_

With a final, hoarse cry, he spilled into his hand and collapsed against the chair, only just grabbing hold of the bureau at the last second to hold himself up.

***

It could not have been worse. As if it weren't bad enough already, standing there trembling with the proof of his folly overflowing from his palm

He'd called _her_ name.

His mind had filled in the blanks for the sake of fantasy. And his mystery woman, his enigmatic lover who was all but a stranger to him despite the intimacy her words had built between them, now wore _Marian's_ features. The daydream replayed in his head and it was _Marian's_ bed that he crept into, and it was _Marian_ that he entwined himself with and slowly wrung pleasure from while she whimpered and writhed against him.

And here he was, standing near to naked in her house, with a stranger's erotic letter in one hand and his cock in the other, panting as he struggled to come down from the high his orgasm had sent him to. She all but hated him, and he'd just jerked off to an elaborate fantasy about her, while she lay in another room recovering from the poison.

He was the greatest fool ever.

He bathed quickly, his hands still shaking and his body still far too sensitive at the touch of the wash cloth. He tried to be remote about it, tried to make the motions quick and as perfunctory as possible; but his blood was still singing from the glory of what he had done, and every touch was torturous at that moment.

Dressing presented a new problem, for his clothes were very nearly ruined from the blood and gore; he poked them with a toe unhappily, and then turned to the clothing laid out on the bed as an offering. The pants fit- barely, and why Marian would have clothes in appropriate sizes for men, he didn't want to know- but the shirt was a hopeless case. He couldn't even get it to close at the front, so he tore it off and cast it onto the floor, running his hands miserably through his hair.

He had to get out of this house; he could always send someone to collect his armour, so that wasn't an issue. All he needed was enough clothing so that he could escape this damned manor before he embarrassed himself any further. Marian was still in his head, his blood still surging through his veins as he remembered her crying out in his arms as he coaxed her to climax... he cursed under his breath as his cock hardened again in the now painfully tight pants. He bit down firmly on the inside of his cheek even though he tried to drag his thoughts away from such awkward erotica.

If he could find the manservant, then maybe he could send him out to buy better fitting clothing. It meant staying in the house for longer, staying in _her_ house, where every room smelled like her and even now he couldn't get his mind off the wretched letter and what those words had done to him.

Damn- the letter. He had to hide the letter; he couldn't very well leave it lying on the desk for anyone to just wander in and find. The pants had pockets, thankfully, and he stuffed it out of sight taking special care to not stop and read a single taunting word.

Gritting his teeth, he eased the door open a crack and peered out into the hallway. Leandra had said that the manservant would be on hand to see to any of his needs- all well and good if the man was actually standing outside his room waiting to serve him, but the hallway was empty. He didn't particularly want to wander through the house half naked and aroused, but... dammit, he had to get out of here!

The manservant was most likely going to be at the back of the house, towards the kitchens. With a sigh of resignation, he slid out of the room and padded silently down the stairs. He didn't come across a soul, which he took as somewhat heartening- at least he hadn't come across Marian or her mother in this state. He could hear someone moving around in one of the rooms up ahead, and as he eased forwards tentatively he could see scarred bench tops and hanging pots and the beginnings of what looked like a hearth, although it was hard to tell from this angle. He'd found the kitchen, and the most likely place for any of the servants to be congregating.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself against any reactions about his state of undress, he stepped through the doorway and began with "Excuse me, but I need-"

He didn't get to finish. It wasn't the manservant in the kitchen after all- it was Marian, and she as scantily clad as he himself.


	4. Of Liaisons and Secrets

Marian woke to find herself quite alone, her shoulder throbbing painfully and her blood pumping for reasons that had nothing to do with the torment she'd endured in the last few hours. She groaned as she came back to herself, frustrated to find that Cullen's scent had seeped into her bedclothes, the linen beneath her face drenched in the smell of him. She pulled herself into a sitting position, wincing as the motion pulled at her shoulder.

His armour was still in piled neatly against the wall, so that was something- she couldn't really see him leaving without taking his precious armour. She'd always found during her brief years with the Lothering chapter of the order that armour was very much a source of pride; Cullen seemed the type of man to carry on with that nonsense, so he still had to be in the house somewhere. She didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Finding a burst of strength from somewhere, she dragged herself to her feet, clinging to the bed post for a long moment as she waited for her head to stop spinning. Gasping a little, she spotted a note on her side table, written in the gentle curves of her mother's script. Apparently she was indeed as good as alone- her mother had an appointment with the Viscount's seneschal that she'd been waiting weeks for, and couldn't delay even with the events of the afternoon. Bodahn and Sandal had apparently gone to the market in search of further medications for her injury.

She rubbed just below the wound and grimaced. She didn't need more medications; the moment Cullen was gone and it was safe, she would be staggering down to Anders and berating him for a good half hour about making foolish deals with the Coterie while he healed her shoulder. For now she was stuck in her own home with no one but the Templar bloody Captain for company. The Templar Captain who seemed to have rather remarkable hands, with fingers that she couldn't stop obsessing over.

Honestly, did the man have mage ancestry? She couldn't think of any other reason why, after having been shot by what felt like an arbalest, all she could focus on was the way his fingers danced across her skin with such exquisite precision, as if by magic. Pain? Who cared about pain when he was touching her like _that_ , and she could have sworn she felt his eyes on her, burning her skin with the intensity of his gaze as he drank her in, and if she'd arched her back just a teensy bit deliberately, well, no one would ever know. Besides, it wasn't as if he liked her at all- she wasn't even sure she liked _him_ , insufferable man that he was. It was just nice to know that someone might still be interested in _looking_ , even if that was all she was entitled to these days.

She sighed as her thoughts turned lecherous, staggering over to the door. And now she was horny as well, the most inappropriate timing ever. Clearly writing dirty letters and pleasuring herself at night wasn't enough anymore. Maybe she'd have to take Isabela up on the offer of a night at the Rose; maybe she'd ask for someone with caramel blond hair, and hazel eyes, and work off more than one frustration in the process.

She inched open the door to her bedroom, and luckily found the passageway beyond empty. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it had been some hours since she'd eaten, and she'd been poisoned in the time in between. Glancing down at her state of undress, wearing only a breastband and an unlaced pair of pants, she shrugged away her concerns. It was her house, dammit, and she was an invalid right now. She'd damn well wear whatever she wanted.

Pottering around the kitchen while half dressed, knowing that Cullen was somewhere in the house, was a little bit thrilling and more than a little bit naughty. She chuckled to herself, picturing his scandalized expression if he were to stumble across her right now, fixing honey and bread in only just enough clothing to prevent an outcry; the poor man had been outright traumatized when she'd pointed out that she had her head in his lap.

"Ah, Templars," she giggled softly to herself, taking a bite of her snack. A hornier and more confused bunch she had yet to find. Stupid codes of ethics; the order had certainly not endeared itself to her in the brief few years she'd masqueraded as one.

It was stupid not to expect him to find her. They were alone in the house, after all, so it stood to reason that he would seek her out eventually to at least check on her health. He was at least courteous to that extent, so it was her fault not to expect him.

She didn't hear him until it was too late- _how did a man his size move so silently?_ \- and when he spoke, she was so lost in mischievous contemplation that the sound of his voice startled her immensely. Flailing, she went tumbling off the stool, taking half the contents of the bench with her as she went. The plate shattered, and she gasped in pain as the impact with the floor jarred her wound.

"Marian!" He was at her side in a heartbeat, kneeling beside her and easing an arm around her to help her sit up again. The warmth of his skin was searing, that first thrilling rush of skin on skin so electrifying that she nearly moaned aloud, even with the pain in her shoulder. She cracked open an eye as he said "Are you alright?"

She stared. And stared. Oh, by the Maker... she didn't know if she'd ever seen a finer specimen of a man before. She didn't know where to look first- oh, mercy, those hips... her fingers were itching to dig in, haul him closer, wrap her thighs around- _oh Maker where did that come from?_ He was clearly not a man who spent his days as Captain buried under paperwork, going by the muscles that danced over his _oh-freaking-Maker-nearly-naked_ form and they were within touching distance if she just lifted her hand. She could run her fingers down his stomach, over his chest and she felt colour rising in her face as her body decided very abruptly that _yes_ , this was exactly what was needed after a near death encounter, a dalliance with the most perfect male body she'd ever encountered, and oh bloody Maker, his scent was in her head and she couldn't think-

"You're not wearing a shirt!" It was the most inoffensive thing she could think of to say, and at least it wasn't ' _take me now, you stallion of a man_ '. That had to count for something in her favour.

" _You're_ not wearing a shirt!"

"So what? This is my house! I can wear what I want!"

"You've been shot! You should be in bed _and_ fully clothed."

She rolled her eyes, half to insult him and half to give her a legitimate reason to look away from him. Sweet holy prophet, if she kept staring at his rippled stomach any longer, she might just swoon. Her hormones were screaming gleefully, begging her to throw her arms wide and call ' _why hello there, Captain, fancy a nibble?_ ' "And just when did I agree that you had the right to order me about and dictate how I'm to behave in my own home?" she said snidely, shaking off his hand- oh Maker, did he just trail it deliberately down her back as she moved away?- and reaching forward to begin collecting up the shattered pieces of crockery.

As she reached for the first piece, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. "I am your superior officer," he snarled, the intensity in his voice lighting a fire in her belly, "and I just broke all manner of rules to bring you to safety. You, Marian, a mage sympathiser and a deserter of the Order, owe me far too much to brush me off as if I were just an annoyance."

She'd never seen such wild passion in his eyes before, and she felt her breath hitch in her chest as his grip tightened around her arm and his gaze landed on her... oh, sweet fucking Maker, was he staring at her mouth?

His eyes darkened. His free hand reached up to her face, and his thumb brushed just under her lip; he brought it back up to his mouth and she couldn't stop the moan that broke from her at the moment. Her skin felt far too tight, far too hot, far too sensitive and oh, the look in his eyes as his tongue darted out to his thumb...

"Honey?" he murmured, his eyes burning her skin, so fierce that she was trembling, and this wasn't right, this was _Cullen_ , and she-

She couldn't do anything as he grasped her chin firmly in his hand and pressed his mouth to that spot just below her lips.

She whimpered desperately, frozen in place at the wild surge of lust that burned through her as he lapped at the corner of her mouth and the honey she'd spilled in the fall. It wasn't quite a kiss, but as he nuzzled at her jaw, tongue slowly laving her skin and the sweet nectar, she couldn't give a damn if it wasn't quite a kiss. The hand gripping her wrist loosened carefully and the moment she judged his hold to be relaxed enough she tore her wrist free; she heard his growl of disapproval and _Sweet Maker_ it did _things_ to her, things that she didn't really have a name for but felt so damned good. Before he could pull away, she had her arms around his neck and the subtle change in angle was enough for her lips to touch his and then she was lost.

She hadn't lied earlier, in the bedroom. It had been an absurdly long time since she'd been with anybody; in all honesty, not since Lothering. Her first few years in Kirkwall, she'd spent every waking moment with the Red Iron, taking every job they were prepared to throw at her in the desperate attempt to accumulate coin and keep her family out of trouble. It wasn't really conducive to building a relationship when she was up before the sun and usually home well after midnight every day. Even casual sex had flown right out the window, usually too tired to hunt down a willing and inoffensive partner. A year in Hightown and the story wasn't much better- now if she even looked sideways at a man, it was apparently grounds for scandal of the highest order.

It was frustrating, and she'd spent far too many nights with only her hand as a bedmate. She wasn't going to waste this opportunity, even if it was Cullen. At the very least, he was the most exquisite piece of male she'd ever laid eyes in- it wasn't really that much of an ordeal to let him have his way with her. _Maker, please let him have his way with me._

He tasted divine, and she moaned against his mouth as he deepened the kiss; he took advantage of her lapse to chase her tongue with his, and the rhythmic thrust and tangle was enough to have her mewling frantically as she clutched at his shoulders and tried to pull him closer. Oh _Maker_ , oh _prophet_ , the feel his muscles flexing beneath her hands was _magnificent_ and she just wanted to keep touching him forever. Why was he wearing any clothing at all?

She felt him shift, and she squeaked in alarm and grabbed at him as he pressed her back towards the floor. She shivered as her back touched cold stone tiles, a delicious counterpoint to the hot flush of her skin. " _Cullen,_ " she whimpered.

He didn't quite press his body down on top of hers, instead choosing to stay on his hands and knees over her; she just managed to not whine in protest. " _Marian,_ " he growled, nipping at her jaw while she thrashed frantically. "Tell me to stop."

That gave her pause and she tore her lips away from his to stare at him. It was the first time she'd looked at him since this had started and the heat in his eyes made her moan, her skin erupting in shivers at the intensity of that gaze. "What? Like the Void I am!"

The disapproving rumble that came from him made her glad she was lying down- she would definitely have swooned otherwise. "You are injured," he snapped. "You should-"

Balls to that. He wasn't going to kiss her until her toes curled and then just expect to walk away without finishing the job. "Don't care," she gasped, wrenching him back and kissing him senseless.

His hand slid across her stomach, running in teasing circles that had her arching off the floor and mewling desperately. Oh fuck, definitely magic hands, magic fingers, magic _something_. She shouldn't feel like this- she'd been shot and poisoned and stitched back together in the last few hours, and yet she still felt that any moment now she was going to scream and climax on her kitchen floor, when all he'd done was touch her stomach. "Oh, fuck, _Cullen_ ," she wailed, panting and trying desperately not to writhe under his torturous ministrations.

His fingers paused just above her waist band and he kissed her so fiercely that she was gasping for air when he let her go and trailed down the line of her jaw. "Do you want this?" he whispered against her ear, biting down gently on her earlobe.

The possessive growl in his voice made her whimper. "Oh, Sweet Maker, _yes_. Yes, Cullen, yes- _please_. I'm _begging_ you."

He shushed her gently, trailing back to her mouth and kissing her slowly and lazily, chuckling as she made frustrated noises and tried to force the speed. "Patience is a virtue worthy of reward, Marian," he murmured against her lips.

She swallowed a scream as his calloused fingers continued to stroke just above her waistband. She clutched at his shoulders, kissing him frantically and nearly sobbing in relief when his hand eased slowly under her belt and over the smooth skin of her stomach. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes dark as he watched her while his fingers dipped down. It was erotically intimate, having him stare at her like that as she trembled in anticipation, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning at the wildness in his gaze. She felt like she was burning up.

At the first brush of his fingers against her sex she choked back a cry, the air rushing from her lungs as she panted desperately. He slid teasingly against her folds, before slipping gently between to rub at her pearl.

She nearly lifted entirely off the floor, sobbing out at the exquisite surge of pleasure that pulsed through her; and from so simple a touch! His free hand pressed onto her shoulder, keeping her pinned to the ground while he kept her leg trapped beneath his. "You're wet for me," he murmured, the savage satisfaction in his voice making her moan as he kept gently stroking.

Her head fell back, her eyes drifting closed as she whimpered in pleasure, fighting the fierce desire to grind down on his hand. She gasped when he grasped her jaw, eyes flying open again as he made her look at him. "Don't shut your eyes," he growled, kissing her roughly before pulling away again. "I want to see you; I don't want you to pretend that anyone other than me is here with you."

As if she could, with his smell and the taste of him winding through her blood and intoxicating her. As if she _would_ , when she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so immediately and utterly turned on. And as if she was capable of thinking of anyone else when he was touching her with those magic fingers of his.

He stroked a little lower, making a teasing foray into her heat and she cried out, grasping desperately at him and biting the inside of her cheek to keep from coming like this. The savagery in his eyes grew wilder, and he was hardly able to stay still himself; his leg continued to press against her, but he was running his foot against her ankle as if he was fighting the need to thrust and was occupying himself another way. "Say my name," he whispered, hovering just a little too far away for her to kiss unless she lunged.

Marian whimpered. " _Cullen._ "

His eyes darkened, and he rewarded her by driving a finger inside of her. She _screamed_ , already so wildly turned on by his peculiar show of possessiveness and _maleness_ , and sweet fucking prophet, it was just one finger, it shouldn't feel this good... clearly it had been far, far too long for this to have her teetering on the edge of control. When he retreated, she whimpered at the agonising friction before crying out again when he pushed back in.

"So wet," he murmured, awe and satisfaction evident in his low growl. He glanced away momentarily, down to where his hand disappeared beneath the band of her pants, before his gaze snapped back to her again. "Say my name!"

She was so close, nearly sobbing from the effort of fighting away the climax. " _Cullen,_ " she wailed.

He sucked in a breath, and when he pressed in a second finger it was almost too much; when they curled just slightly, enough to brush against _that_ place, her world came apart. She screamed, throwing her head back and thrashing as she came; Cullen was cradling her cheek, kissing her and she was drinking him in, sobbing, gulping, and she just wanted to climb inside of him, she wanted him inside of _her-_

The front door slammed closed and he froze instantly, his lips stilling on hers; half a second later and he was tearing away from her as if burned. She whimpered at the loss of his heat and his touch, but it was too late- he was already scrabbling to his feet and dashing from the room, leaving her dazed and panting on the kitchen floor.

***

 _Several days later_

Cullen sat with his head in his hands, his paperwork ignored in favour of the two pieces of parchment on his desk. Not that he really favoured either of them; each was an agony to write, each occupied his thoughts near to obsession, and each was a symbol of two women that he had somehow come to care for far too deeply. And through these pages, he had to hurt one of them irrevocably, if not both of them.

The floor behind his desk was littered with painful previous attempts to write, the crumpled pieces of paper so numerous that he couldn't see the carpet in places. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes, trying desperately to think of what to write; what could he possibly say to two women each equally important to him, when he was terrified that he had betrayed both of them with his selfish behaviour on Marian's kitchen floor.

His blood quickened at the memory. _Marian_. Hers was probably the more important of the two, or at least the more urgent. After all but ravishing her, with the slamming of the front door he had fled like a coward, panicked at the thought of her mother or her manservant coming across them in such a compromising position and demanding an explanation. He didn't have an explanation- for himself, for Marian, for anyone. But he had to find one; all he knew was that the moment had presented itself, and there'd been so very little covering her curves from his hungry eyes and then she'd kissed him in return and begged him as if there was nothing she wanted more in the world than his touch...

What on earth could he say to her? _Dear Marian, I regret my behaviour on your kitchen floor, but not as much as I regret being interrupted. Additionally, I may only have lunged for you as a result of reading explicit correspondence from another woman while alone in your spare bedroom._ Wouldn't that go down excellently?

And he couldn't even convince himself that the letter was the only reason that he'd succumbed and kissed her to within an inch of her life and wrung pleasure from her until she screamed- _oh Maker, the sound of her sobbing in frantic, desperate bliss had not left his head for_ days- because he couldn't rightly say that he wouldn't have attempted to steal a kiss even if they had both been in their right minds.

And that was nothing to say of his mysterious lover-from-afar, the woman whose words had left him in such a frustrated state to begin with. What could he say to her? _Thank you for your arousing missive, I promptly went out and pleasured another woman until she was insensible. She sends her thanks._ Brilliant.

There was a knock on the door, and he snapped out of his erotic musings with a start, hoping his face wasn't red as he called for whoever it was to enter. Philippe, one of the Gallows' Tranquil, entered with a piece of paper in his hand. "A letter arrived for you, Knight Captain," he said tonelessly, gliding across the space with his hand outstretched.

Cullen took the letter with a nod of thanks, turning it over; he felt his heart skip uneasily when he recognised the Hawke seal, the bright red wax stamped with _her_ symbol. Clearly she'd grown tired of waiting for him, and had taken matters into her own hands, not that he could blame her. His blood heated a few degrees as the more lecherous part of his brain elaborated on what could be in the missive, before he ground his teeth in frustration and broke the seal, smoothing the paper to see what Marian had to say.

 _Cullen,_

 _I must confess myself more than a little_

He sat forward so quickly that he banged his knee on the edge of the desk, cursing under his breath as his blood surged through his body. The letter dropped onto the desk as he fumbled frantically for the package of earlier correspondences; his fingers were shaking so much that he had trouble untying the string that held the letters together, and in the end he gave up and ripped the twine in half. The papers spilled over his desk and he pawed through them frantically for the earlier ones. He spotted what he wanted and nearly ripped the paper in his haste to open it.

 _My Concerned Friend,_

 _I must confess myself vastly surprised to have_

He didn't read any more than that. He didn't need to. It was the same handwriting.


	5. Of Longing and Revelations

_Cullen,_

 _I must confess myself more than a little flummoxed as to how to comport myself in this letter. I'm not really sure of the expected social protocol for our situation, not that I expect any exists, but I was never one to sit and wait for others to come to me so I hope you'll forgive me for my audaciousness. We need to talk, Cullen. If you would be so kind as to inform me of a time that is convenient to you, I will make myself available so that we may discuss this development._

 _Marian_

Marian was slumped face down on her desk, her cheeks still burning with shame at the thought of the ridiculous letter. What else was she supposed to say? It had been three days, and the memory of him sprinting from the room at the threat of someone discovering them together was enough to have her groaning in humiliation again.

"Can't have the high and mighty Captain caught _fraternising_ ," she muttered to the desk. "And especially not with Marian _bloody_ Hawke."

Why hadn't he contacted her? She sat up, running her hands through her hair in frustration; he'd seemed to enjoy himself at the time- her face flushed at the memory as heat settled low in her belly- so why had she not heard a damned thing from him? It was galling that she'd had to send for him. It felt like she was begging, and she hated begging.

And if that wasn't bad enough, her mysterious lover-from-afar hadn't replied either. She chuckled humourlessly; she couldn't really call him that, given that she'd been the only one to indulge in what seemed an unrequited crush. He'd probably received her dirty letter- oh _Maker_ , she'd enjoyed writing that letter- and had been so disturbed at the contents that he'd thrown it away, crushing her erotic fantasies of a very sexy first meeting.

She shivered and ran her hands down her thighs slowly, her little daydreams feeding the flame of desire that had sputtered into life at the memory of Cullen's hands on her. Damn it, why had he run? They could have fumbled their way through some awkward encounter with her mother or Bodahn, and then locked themselves in the bedroom for the afternoon.

Oh Maker. She was fantasising about locking the Knight Captain in her bedroom and having her way with him. Oh fuck it, who cared- if the man was half as good at other things as he was with his hands, she'd lock him up and never let him leave. Pride be damned, she'd _beg_ him to stay.

And now here she was hours later, moping around the house and waiting for him to call on her. "When did you reach this point in your life, Marian?" she griped as she climbed to her feet and stalked out into the hallway. "Waiting around for a _man_ to come and sweep you off your feet? We'll just tack _princess_ to the start of your name from now on, too."

"Did you say something, messere?" Bodahn stopped in his tracks, his arms full of laundry.

Damn it. She hadn't seen him there. "Nothing at all, Bodahn," she said, fighting the urge to sigh. She had to get out of the house before her impatience drove her mad. "I'm just going for a walk down to the market. If Mother comes home, tell her I'll be back later."

Her steps led her to the sweets stall where she'd bought the sugared almonds for her mysterious friend; it felt like weeks ago. She indulged herself and bought a little packet of nougat, munching on it as she made her way back towards home.

On a whim she diverted past the Chantry and waited for a lull in the crowds before she eased aside the brick. Disappointment flooded her as her fingers felt nothing but stone but then she brushed against paper, and her heart went soaring into her throat.

She tore the letter from the nook, her hands shaking as she replaced the brick. She tried to maintain her calm as she walked carefully away from the Chantry but inside she was dancing, revelling in the knowledge that she hadn't scared him with her scandalous words. As soon as she judged herself to be a safe distance, perhaps halfway to home, her curiosity got the better of her and she paused on the side of the street to read the first lines.

 _My Astoundingly Affectionate Lady,_

 _I cannot tell you how affected I was by your words and how thoughts of your screams and sobs of pleasure have intruded upon me every day since. I wish I had been the one to wring such desperation from you._

Oh, Blessed Maker.

She put a hand out to the wall to steady herself as a wave of desire left her lightheaded. She could hardly believe it- not only had he written back to her after her foolish letter, but he'd written her a dirty letter in response. Her heart felt like it was trying to burst free of her rib cage; she was giddy with delight and so aroused just from the first two lines that she fought the urge to giggle like a teenager with her first crush.

 _Your very descriptive missive has left me in more than a few awkward situations, when your words drift back to me at inopportune moments. It is so very hard to concentrate on my day to day tasks when all I can think of is darkened rooms and sex stained sheets and the sweet softness of you pinned beneath me. And I must say that it has left me more than a little cross with you, my affectionate Lady-_

She felt a surge of panic. Cross? Why cross?

 _-because more than anything I feel the need to correct you on a few points of interest. The first and most pressing of your errors is your assumption that if I were to come across you pleasuring yourself, 'in preparation for me' as you so endearingly suggested, that I would be inclined to take over the task from you. And although the thought of drawing your pleasure out languorously by fucking you slowly with my hand is appealing, I do not think it is what I would do in such a situation._

Marian whimpered, leaning a little harder against the wall as her legs wobbled. Sweet flaming prophet, she was standing in the middle of Hightown reading an explicitly erotic letter, while the citizens of Kirkwall passed by her blissfully oblivious to her situation.

 _Do not misinterpret me, my affectionate Lady. If the moment presented itself, I would have you at my mercy on the floor, screaming and thrashing while blind lust drove us to finish as soon as possible, to find our pleasure with one another immediately before we were interrupted._

Oh, fuck, and now she had Cullen in her head again, the memory of his hands on her and in her sending a flood of moisture between her legs. Oh, _fuck_ , and she'd only just sent off a letter a few hours ago asking Cullen to meet with her and talk about that wild moment on the kitchen floor. Now she had a mysterious gentleman writing her filthy suggestions and all she could see in her head was _Cullen_ ; this was terrible, how was she supposed to have a rational conversation with him when she had dirty stories in her head? What was she supposed to say in her next letter? _Thank you for the stimulating reading material, but I'll have to ask you to desist. I may have inadvertently ended up in a relationship as a result of being too horny after writing that last letter and jumping a man I usually despise. He sends his thanks._ Magnificent.

She rubbed at the back of her neck, feeling the flush of heat in her skin and hoping fervently that her expression didn't make it obvious that she was reading something lewd. _And even if we were interrupted, forced apart before I could make you mine, you can rest assured that I would not rest until I found my way back to you, to a time and a place where I could take you at my leisure. I would not leave until I had heard you scream and sob my name at least a dozen times over, until I had felt your body trembling from exhaustion as I lured you to climax again and again. I would not be satisfied until I had felt your skin slick with sweat against mine, your legs wrapped around my hips, your body tight and welcoming-_

Marian moaned and bit down on her knuckle. Sweet fucking Maker, what was she doing reading this in public? She had to get home immediately, before she made a scene. She set off at a brisk a pace as she could without sprinting, glancing down at the letter as she did so.

The final line caught her eye.

 _You, Marian Hawke, are a delightful and enigmatic woman, and you have forced me to eat my own words, for a more determined, honourable and passionate woman I have never come across._

Marian froze.

 _You have laid your heart on the line in these letters, and I pray fervently that I have not disappointed you in my responses. As you can assume, you will not have to wait long for my next correspondence._

 _In Affectionate Anticipation,_

 _Your Friend_

"He knows who I am," she whispered to no one, her mind curiously blank.

The whole world spun to a stop, winding slowly down around her until everyone seemed to be fighting their way through molasses. She felt light headed, and she knew she should be panicking, but...

 _You, Marian Hawke, are a delightful and enigmatic woman..._

He knew who she was. Sweet flaming prophet, he _knew_ who she was. Granted, everyone in the city seemed to know her these days, since her elevation from Lowtown Dog Lord to Hightown Lady; _fuck_ , what was she supposed to do? Was he going to reveal himself? Was he going to keep writing to her mysteriously, refusing to reveal his identity and revelling in the power he held over her?

Her heart was beating a furious tattoo, and she felt herself sway a little. The crowds parted around her, the people of Kirkwall going about their business with no knowledge of what went on in their midst. Oh, Maker, she'd written him- she moaned, horror settling in the pit of her stomach. She'd written him _that_ letter, telling him all those sexy, dirty things she wanted him to do to her. He knew who she was- what if he crept into her house at night and actually tried to do just that?

"Oh, _fuck_ , Marian, this is what you get for letting your hormones do the talking," she muttered. She groaned and dropped her face into her hands, uncaring of the odd looks she was getting from passers-by. So now she'd practically had sex with Cullen on her kitchen floor, and she also had a stranger who was perhaps a little closer to home than she'd expected who was privy to all of her sexual fantasies.

"Neither of which would have happened if you'd taken Jethann up on his offer," she said. She stuffed the letter inside her coat and set off at a brisk walk towards home. She didn't know if she wanted to read the rest of it now. The novelty and the thrill had been somewhat tainted, knowing that her letter writing friend had the benefit of knowing exactly who she was and how to find her. "Because if you'd had sex at all in these past two years, even once, you wouldn't have been so desperate for affection that you'd ravish a stranger via letters. And look what you've gotten yourself in to now!"

She pushed open the front door to the manor a little more forcefully than she'd intended, the door banging off the wall and swinging back towards her. She cursed and stumbled into the hallway as it slammed into her hip, recovering herself at the last minute so that she didn't go sprawling on the floor like an idiot.

"Maker take it all!" she snapped, staggering upright again and-

A hand appeared on her arm, just below her shoulder, and another settled on her hip, helping to steady her. "Are you alright, Marian?"

She froze, his voice and the heat of his hands immediately sparking a fire within her. "Cullen?" she said tremulously, hoping he would ignore the way her voice quivered.

She could practically _feel_ him smile. "I certainly hope so, otherwise I'll be just as confused as you."

Marian turned slowly, and he let his hands fall away from her, for which she was both profoundly grateful and completely incensed. "What are you doing here?" she whispered, aroused and horrified and delighted all in one. Oh, blessed prophet, she could already smell him, that delicious musky, leathery male scent that was all him. _Cullen_. She could feel her body tensing in delicious anticipation.

He smiled wryly, looking far too smug and far too handsome. Shouldn't there be a rule about that? That Templar Captains should be old and stodgy and definitely not young and virile and sexy and in need of a good shag? If there wasn't, then there needed to be. _Immediately_. Before she did something idiotic. "You sent me a letter asking me to join you."

Argh, why did everything have to be an unintentional double entendre with him? All she could think about was that letter, the one pleading her mysterious friend to creep into her bedchamber and pleasure her until she was boneless. Although, if it ever _was_ Cullen trying to creep through the door, she couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't vault out of bed and drag him back with her.

"I... I did no such thing!" she stuttered, hoping that her expression didn't reveal her lecherous thoughts. "I only asked you to write back to me, so we could arrange a time! At no point did I tell you to let yourself into my home!"

He wasn't wearing his armour, she realised somewhat faintly, and seeing the way his breeches hugged at his narrow hips- _her fingers suddenly felt grabby_ \- and seeing the way the his shoulders seemed to stretch the fabric of his shirt- _perfect for clinging to_ \- she felt her cheeks flush red and heat bloom low in her belly. It was all she could do not to reach for the wall to steady herself and admit to how affected she was by him right now.

Blessed prophet, how had this happened? This was _Cullen_ ; two weeks ago she hadn't even been able to stand him, and now she was a hairsbreadth from begging him to touch her, kiss her, continue that magical moment that they'd created on the kitchen floor-

He was talking. Fuck, what had he said while she'd been fantasizing about making love to him again? There was no point trying to salvage her pride now so she steeled herself and said "Sorry, what did you say? I was... distracted."

Cullen's smile widened. "I was just saying, I didn't let myself in to your home to startle and harass you. I knocked on the door and your manservant let me in. I told him I'd be happy to wait for you to return home again."

His smile _did_ things to her; why was he smiling like that, as if he were privy to some joke that was entirely too distracting and he couldn't stop thinking about it? Why did he have to look at her with those mischievous bedroom eyes, all fire and tenderness and desire and _Maker take it all_ , why did that look send her into such a tizzy in the first place? What if she was imagining all of this? What in the Void could she possibly say to him- _I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, and if you asked I would let you do anything to me, but I'm worried someone else is expecting to take the same liberties with me in the near future?_

When she hesitated for too long, his smile twitched slightly, as if he were fighting the need to laugh, and tilted his head towards the door of her study. "Perhaps it would be a good start to take this conversation somewhere more private?" he suggested carefully. "That is, if you actually did want to do as your letter suggested?"

Marian shook herself, her cheeks burning. There it was again, the subtle hint that made her lecherous brain run straight to thoughts of sex and teasing and sobbing, desperate pleasure. Of course he was talking about her letter asking her to come to discuss their dalliance, but everything he said seemed to bring to mind those other letters.

"Of course," she stammered, going to take her coat off and realising at the last moment that she still had a remarkably sexy letter stuffed inside. It was too late though- Cullen had already seen the movement, and gentleman that he was he moved to take the coat from her, his fingers brushing over her shoulder as he tried to take it.

"No, I'm fine, it's-" It was no good. Even trying to keep the coat clutched desperately to her, he managed to peel it away from her with almost insulting ease. The lazy way that his fingers skimmed down her back did nothing to help her condition, and she closed her eyes, jaw clenched as she fought this new surge of arousal.

The letter fluttered free from the confines of her coat, no longer trapped by the fabric, and as he stepped backwards to hang the coat near the door she lunged for the pages, panic making her shaking fingers refuse to cooperate as she tried to scoop it back up before he could see. A litany of wildly erotic images poured through her head as she grabbed the wretched letter:

... _heard you scream and sob my name at least a dozen times over..._

 _... felt your skin slick with sweat against mine..._

 _... drawing your pleasure out languorously by fucking you slowly with my hand..._

 _... your body tight and welcoming..._

"Marian?"

Panicked, she folded the letter into a tiny square and stuffed the damned thing into her breeches pocket. Her skin was burning, although whether from embarrassment or arousal she couldn't tell. "It's fine! Everything is fine, just fine, and you're absolutely right, we need to go and speak somewhere private, my study, we'll go to my study-"

"Marian!" His eyes were dancing with unspent laughter as he stopped in front of her. His hand reached up to brush against her cheek and she froze, that single touch alone nearly her undoing. "Please calm down. I'm just here to talk."

She took a deep breath. Talk. She could do that. "Of course," she said, pleased with how rational she sounded. No quivering voice or horny desperation evident at all. _Point to me_.

Gesturing for him to follow, she led him down the hallway towards her study, her skin burning as she felt his eyes on her. A niggling thought made her call out, "I must confess, you seem remarkably relaxed for someone who sprinted from my house in a blind panic and refused to contact me afterwards."

His chuckle had the same effect on her as a half bottle of red wine, and shivers swept over her skin. "Are you really so determined that you want to talk about this here, where anyone can hear us?"

"Perhaps I'm looking for an apology," she said, trying to sound flippant and unaffected. "It wasn't exactly the ending I was hoping for."

He felt too close; she could feel the heat of him as she stopped to unlock her study. His fingers covered hers, stopping her just before she would have had the door open. "What do you want me to say, Marian?" he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "I'm sorry we were interrupted, but you can rest assured it won't happen again?"

Oh _fuck_ , if she didn't already know that Cullen didn't have the creativity and the tenderness to write such eloquent letters, she would definitely have said he was her mysterious correspondent. What were the chances that he would whisper almost word for word the same thing that the most recent letter had contained? Although, now that she thought about it she felt her toes curl at the idea that it could actually be Cullen, writing her such beautiful, gentle letters, reading her sexy, desperate pleas...

With shaking hands pushed open the door and graciously indicated for him to enter ahead of her. As he brushed past her she couldn't help but breathe deeply, his smell intoxicating her. She took her time in closing the door, waiting for him to speak up and demand that for propriety's sake it had to remain open. No such cry ever came, and her pulse quickened when she heard the click of the latch and realised they were indeed alone together.

She turned slowly, licking dry lips as she faced him. Scrabbling through her unhelpful brain for something appropriate to say, she finally blurted out "Thank you for coming."

He was leaning up against her desk, hip resting against the wood and _oh Maker_ , what she wouldn't give to just slide up to him slowly, let her hands drift over his hips and tug him in line with her body, to kiss him slowly and messily while her fingers slipped under his breeches to knead at the hard muscles of his ass...

Swallowing uncomfortably, she lifted her gaze to his, to find him smirking. That threw her- it was a new look for him. She'd never seen him smirk before, a sexy, naughty expression that seemed to defy and challenge her. "If you'll recall, Marian," he said slowly, "I didn't."

She blinked once. Then twice. Then a third time. _There is no way in the Void that he just said what I think he said; I just have sex on the brain, that's all._ She took a deep breath and tried again. "You, um, responded more promptly than I was expecting," she said, wondering if that breathless, feminine voice was really hers.

He pushed off the desk and walked slowly towards her; Marian backed up just as slowly, trapped by the wall at her back as he came to a stop before her. "Maybe I just got tired of pretending I was concentrating on my day to day tasks rather than dreaming of all the ways that I wanted to take you."

She couldn't breathe; he was so utterly predatory, stalking her slowly, filling her head with his smell and _those_ words, they were too close, far too close, to the letter burning a hole in her pocket. It couldn't be, _he_ couldn't be, but it was too much and she had to know-

She swallowed, and whispered "I apologise for my bold words, but I cannot regret them."

His eyes darkened. His hand came up, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "Just know that were you here with me right now, I would let you do whatever you wanted to me, for as long as you wanted."

She cried out, tears pricking at her eyes and her heart doing its very best to lurch right out of her chest. She launched herself into his waiting arms and kissed him with all the desperate passion she'd been holding onto for weeks.

He was more than ready for her when she lunged at him, his arms coming up around her so tightly that she squeaked in protest before his grip loosened marginally. They crashed together in a flurry of heat and need and desperation, his mouth covering hers almost violently; she moaned, her fingers already clutching at the front of his shirt and he was pushing her up against the wall, tongue and teeth and wild lust, _oh Sweet Blessed Bloody Maker_ , what was _happening_ to her? She felt like she was about to burst into flames, and she couldn't get enough of him.

She'd never felt this before, this wild, uncontrollable passion for another human being. She enjoyed sex, thank you for much, but _this_... this desperate need for him, the need to taste him, kiss him, touch him, tease him, breath him in- this was all entirely, astoundingly new. She'd never wanted anyone the way that she wanted him.

"Dear Friend?" she managed to gasp, whimpering when his hand ran up under her shirt and across the curve of her hip.

He kissed her so deeply and so wildly that when they broke away she felt light headed from the lack of air. Or was that just from the taste of him? "Affectionate Lady?" he murmured, kissing down the line of her jaw and nipping gently at her ear.

She moaned when he pressed her firmly into the wall, his thigh wedged between her legs. She didn't care how shameless it made her- she straddled his leg eagerly, nearly sobbing in relief as she felt the zing of pleasure as he rubbed slowly up and down, wishing passionately that their clothes would suddenly dissolve into dust or sand or some other fine powder so that the damned things would just be bloody well gone and his skin could press against hers, hot and slick and-

" _Door,_ " she moaned; he cursed and tore away from her, leaving her panting and dizzy, clutching at the wall to keep her feet under her. She heard the click of the lock, and then he was on her again; when his hands slid down her hips she whimpered in anticipation, already expecting him to slip his fingers under her shirt and splay across her bare skin.

He surprised her; instead of sneaking beneath her clothing to stroke her skin until she was insensible, his hands slid down, around the curve of her ass and she couldn't help the gasp of alarm when he hefted her in his arms, as if her weight meant nothing to him- oh, now _that_ was swoonworthy- and pressed her into the wall again. He pulled her legs up, supporting her with his hands hot and firm beneath her thighs, dragging at her limbs until her ankles were locked behind his back.

"Oh, _Cullen,_ " she whimpered, feeling his hard length press against her intimately. Fuck, why was she wearing clothes? She hated clothes!

"Do you know how crazy you've made me?" he growled, slowly grinding his hips against hers until she was all but sobbing in desperation. He didn't give her a chance to answer, kissing her ruthlessly until she was quite certain she was about to turn into a puddle of goo in his arms. "I'm supposed to be sensible and reliable and rational and-"

Her fingers were fumbling down the line of buttons on his shirt, trembling so badly that it was taking her double the time it should have. "If this is the opposite of sensible, you're never allowed to be sensible again," she said, running her hands over the skin that she'd bared and shivering when he groaned at the touch.

"I have duties," he said, before biting down on her shoulder until she was squirming. "I am responsible for the safety and security of so many people, and I've ignored all of that because _you_ have been entirely too distracting."

She'd just about reached the end of her patience- he needed to be naked _now_. "My bedroom," she gasped, mewling when he trailed up her neck with kisses that seemed to land on the most sensitive nerve endings in her body. Apparently her neck was more responsive to touch than she would have thought. Or maybe it was just that it was _Cullen_ , and everything he did to her seemed to be so erotically charged that she couldn't help but feel like it was new and _goddammit_ she couldn't stop kissing him. " _Now_ , Cullen."

His hands loosened around her legs, lowering her to the ground. _Not fast enough_ , she thought impatiently, making a noise of frustration against his mouth. His chuckle hummed through her, making her shiver. "The door is locked, Marian," he murmured against her lips, stealing nuzzling kisses between each word.

She nearly screamed in frustration. "So? Unlock it!"

He cut off any further argument she might have made with another bruising kiss. "I'm quite happy here," he countered, his magical fingers finally making a sweep up over her hips and under her shirt. She moaned and arched into him, panting desperately against his jaw as he danced and teased and drove her nearly out of her mind. "In fact, I'm _more_ than happy here."

"You you are a _wretch_ ," she panted. "Do you have an aversion to making love in bed?"

"Not that I know of," he said with a laugh; in one swift movement he had her shirt in his hand and was shucking it up and over her head. He threw it to the side and then took a step backwards, leaving a frustrating gap between them. When she whined in exasperation, thwarted desire pulsing in her veins, his grin widened; he batted her hands away when she tried to tug him closer. "Ah ah, sweetheart, not until I've looked at you."

Her skin felt like it was alive as his eyes traced slowly over her and she only just managed to stop herself from leaping on him. "It's nothing that you didn't see the other day already," she snapped, her fingers digging into the wall panel behind her so that she didn't grab at him.

The fire in his eyes made her legs weak. He slowly leant in closer, placing his hands either side of her head and dropping his head until his lips were beside her ear. "Then show me what I didn't see the other day," he murmured, his breath on her ear making her squirm.

"Are you sure you're the same Cullen I knew a week ago?" she asked breathlessly, trembling fiercely from the lust flooding her body and the ongoing battle not to just succumb and lunge at him. "Because I'm fairly certain he's never told anyone to strip for him before."

He bit down on her earlobe ever so gently and she cried out. _Sweet flaming prophet, he's going to touch me all of once and I'm going to come._ "That's very possibly true," he said, nuzzling at the corner of her jaw. "But that doesn't mean you have any excuse not to do what I told you to do _immediately_. Clothes off, Marian."

Her hands were shaking as she reached for the tie of her breast band. "You'll pay for this, you arrogant bastard," she whispered, though the threat came out decidedly more sultry than she'd perhaps intended.

He kept his hands either side of her, a smirk playing over his lips. "I certainly hope so," he said.

Cullen didn't look down when the fabric went whispering to the ground, instead keeping his gaze locked with hers. There was a wild sense of triumph in his expression, something savage and possessive and so damned fucking hot, and she had no idea where this side of him had come from but she wasn't about to let it escape in a hurry. "Do you want-"

"Everything," he said instantly, his eyes never once straying from her face. Maker, she was burning up from that look alone. "I said clothes off, Marian, so no more stalling."

She fumbled awkwardly with her pants, determined not to look away while she tried to deal with the laces. She felt herself blushing as the moment stretched on a little too long, and his smile turned a little sly. "A problem, my lady? Do you perhaps need my help?"

The smug look on his face was all the incentive she needed to conquer her damned pants and shove them down. At the very least, she could hope to shut him up for a second or two out of shock when he finally deigned to look down at her. _Oh gods, why isn't he looking?_

She stood there, completely naked and burning up, her breath coming in shallow little gasps, desperate for him to touch her or kiss her or at least _look_ at her, and he just stood there, just slightly out of reach and fuck it, if he didn't do something soon, she was just going to have to _jump_ on him. Instead he stood there, his arms either side of her head, hands planted firmly on the wall and his eyes locked onto hers and- "Oh, Maker, Cullen, _touch me_ ," she finally begged. "Do something, say something, anything!"

There was a lengthy pause, something that seemed to last for the better part of eternity as far as Marian was concerned. She nearly sobbed in relief when his hand finally detached from the wall and came up to brush against her cheek tenderly.

He still hadn't looked down. "Marian," he murmured, his fingers drifting across to trace the outline of her lips, "you wrote me some decidedly naughty things. Things that left me desperate to find you, so that I could do every last little thing that you begged me to do; I couldn't _sleep_ at night, wanting to tear out of bed and hunt you down so that I could climb in beside you in the dark and make love to you until we both passed out."

Somehow he had drifted closer to her, and the linen of his shirt was brushing against her bare skin, her nipples pressed lightly into his chest. She swallowed as he leant in closer, wanting to stamp her foot in frustration when he stopped before kissing her. "That was admittedly my plan when I wrote it." She angled her head in the hope that she could lunge forward and catch him but he anticipated that; instead he slipped to the slide and placed an open mouthed kiss on the edge of her jaw.

"Well, it would have saved a lot of time and energy if you'd just signed off with your name," he teased; his hands were drifting down, running over her shoulders and down the outside of her breasts until they came to rest over her hips, as if holding her in place. Oh Maker, skin to skin contact was the most blissfully wonderful thing anybody had ever invented and she was quivering from the intensity of the anticipation running through her. "Given that I read it in your house, if I'd known you were the one asking, I wouldn't have bothered wasting time like that on the kitchen floor."

She whimpered. "It wasn't a waste," she said breathlessly; his heat was delicious, and she was nearly flush against him now, their bodies touching from knee through to shoulder. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go. "That was without a doubt the most beautiful moment in my life."

Cullen groaned, his lips trailing along her skin and coming dangerously close to her mouth. She could feel his cock through his pants, the steely length pressing into her stomach; she rolled her hips ever so slightly and he let out a choked moan, his fingers digging into her waist to hold her still. " _Cullen_ ," she begged, her pride thrown right out the window.

He pulled back slightly, far enough so that he could finally look down at her. She could feel his eyes on her, burning her up entirely and she squirmed to break free of his hold.

"You need me," he rasped.

"Oh, Maker, _yes_."

"Then say it properly." At the confusion that flitted over her face, he leant in until his forehead was touching hers. Their breaths mingled. "Say it like the letter."

Realisation dawned on her and she moaned. " _Cullen_ -"

"Say it," he whispered, his lips touching hers for the briefest of moments, enough for her to gasp at the contact. "Say it, Marian."

She was trembling so fiercely that she was certain she wouldn't have been able to support her own weight if he let go of her. "I need you here right now. Like I have never, ever allowed myself to need another, I most assuredly need you."

"Good girl." He ran his hand down the flat of her stomach and further, sliding over her sex and cupping her possessively.

Marian sobbed out a desperate cry, arching into his touch. "Oh, Cullen, _please!_ " His finger dipped inside, just enough to sample her heat and she was reduced to a panting, quivering, mewling mess. " _Now_ , Cullen!"

"Now what, Marian?"

She could have screamed. "Make love to me, you insufferable man!"

His look alone nearly sent her over the edge. "Well, since you asked so nicely..." She squeaked in alarm when he slipped his arm behind her knees and swung her into his arms.

"Cullen! What are you doing?"

He crossed the room in two long strides and was kneeling on the rug in front of the fire before she could think twice. "I'm not going to fuck you up against a wall like an animal," he growled, the heat in his eyes making her cry out softly as he lay her down gently. "Maybe next time, perhaps, but not for our first time together."

She felt surprisingly vulnerable, laid out on the floor naked before him, while he had the benefit of keeping all of his clothes. That had to change- immediately. "There's going to be a next time?" she asked as she reached for the buttons on his shirt again. The top few were still gaping open from when she'd managed to work them open earlier.

"To get through all the things I plan on doing to you?" he said with an arched brow; he batted her hands away and ripped the shirt over his head himself, his expression vastly smug when she moaned appreciatively. "Marian, you aren't going to have _any_ time to yourself for the next week. At least. Do you have any idea how crazy you've driven me these past few days?"

"That's your fault for running away." She sat up and ran her hands over the broad expanse of his shoulders, grinning when he shivered at the touch. Her hands dipped towards his belt. "If you'll recall, my letter said that you were welcome to do whatever you wanted to me for as long as you wanted, whenever you wanted. If you'd stayed, we could have explored the limits of my endurance thoroughly by now."

He let her remove his belt with shaking fingers, but his impatience got the better of him and he pushed her back, following her down to the floor and covering her body with his. He cut off her moan of frustration with his mouth, kissing her fiercely until she melted beneath him and began to whimper needily, clinging to his arms and arching up into him.

"Given that I have you naked-" He kissed down the line of her neck "-on the floor-" He nuzzled at her breast, his tongue circling the pebbled flesh with taunting sweeps "-begging for me, I'd say that means I've already pushed you to the limits of your endurance."

His lips closed around her nipple, sucking gently and she sobbed out a breath that she didn't know she'd been holding. She cradled his head to her breast, hand sliding into his hair while she writhed in blissful agony. "Oh, Cullen, I swear... if you don't _ahh_ -" She nearly screamed when he slid his hand between her legs to tease again, rubbing at her nub before slipping into her wet heat with first one finger, and then a second.

He was clearly more affected than last time, from the shudder that passed through him before he lifted his head from her breast and kissed her again. "Marian, sweetheart, you feel so _good_ ," he groaned, resting his forehead against hers.

"Uhh, Cullen," she wailed, thrashing against him as his fingers worked their magic again. "Cullen, _please_."

He pulled back onto his knees, tearing at the laces on his pants. Unable to go even a few seconds without touching him, she sat up between his legs and placed an open mouthed kiss on his stomach, then another closer to his hip. The muscles beneath her lips jumped at her touch and she heard his breath hitch. Feeling emboldened, she pushed his hands to the side and dealt with the laces herself; she accepted his help in pushing the cursed breeches down. When his cock sprang free she couldn't help herself- she bent forward quickly before he could stop her and took him into her mouth, flicking her tongue over the sensitive slit on the head and lapping at the moisture leaking from the tip.

His strangled, almost panicked groan was music to her ears. "Marian, you have to stop that _now_ ," he hissed; his hands told a different story, sliding up her neck and into her hair, cradling her jaw as she slid her lips further over him. His ragged breathing as she swallowed around him was one of the most arousing things she'd ever heard, and the power she had over him in that moment was gloriously intoxicating. She sucked eagerly, using her teeth and her tongue and paying particular attention to what made him groan or gasp or tremble.

"Enough of that," he growled, something wild in his eyes as he pulled himself free; when she pouted up at him lust flared in his eyes and she felt her body respond accordingly.

"Did you not like it?" she said coquettishly, glancing up at him from beneath her lashes. She let her tongue slip out quickly to lick at the corner of her mouth, delighting in the way his eyes followed the gesture almost obsessively.

Cullen shoved his breeches down the rest of the way, kicking them off before crawling over her. "I liked it far too much," he murmured, perched above her. "But as much as I would dearly love to come in your naughty little mouth, I've already stated my intentions: I'm going to make you mine the traditional way."

Marian shivered as he eased her thighs apart with his knee. "I'm curious as to how many ways you know other than the traditional way," she gasped, feeling just about ready to explode out of her skin. "You never struck me as the adventurous sort."

He growled, a desperately sexy smirk playing over his lips as he lowered himself down towards her. "Just because I don't make a point of promoting my sexual endeavours doesn't mean they don't exist." He paused and the smile became more rueful. "Well, maybe they haven't existed for the last few years, but my point remains valid."

Her answer was lost when their bodies came together, and a frenzy of need overtook them both; they were kissing and gasping and clinging and surging against one another in that desperate mockery that always preceded sex. Marian let her legs wrap around his, and then after a moment she was able to slide them up his thighs. Her body opened up to him, a cradle for his hips that had her mewling needily as his cock pressed against the heat of her core. In a brief lapse where they were not kissing desperately, she rasped "It's been a long while for me too."

"Good," he said, kissing her until she was whimpering. He ignored her quiet sobs, grinding his hips against hers teasingly. "I don't like the idea of anyone else touching you."

"It was years ago! Before I even knew you."

"Even so." His hand slid down between them, down to her slickness; one finger slipped inside easily and she cried out softly. It was joined by a second, stretching her deliciously, and she gasped when he eased in a third. "Ah, sweetheart, you're so _tight_."

"Please, Cullen," she whispered, clinging desperately to his shoulders and shuddering as he moved his hand slowly against her, his fingers gliding in her wet heat. "No more teasing?"

He kissed her. "No more teasing, Marian," he promised.

His hand slipped free and she nearly whined at the loss, but when she felt something else pressing against her she restrained herself, biting into her lip. They were still for a very long moment, poised on the edge; he was so close to her that each breath she took seemed to come straight from him, their lips brushing in a vague impression of a kiss, noses touching. He pulled away just slightly, and at her whimper, he murmured "I want to see you."

She meant to say something witty in response, something to detract from how terrifyingly momentous this had begun to feel, when he pushed into her and coherent thought suddenly became next to impossible. She felt her body surrender to him after a brief moment of resistance, and she knew her fingers were digging in to him hard enough to leave bruises but she could not care less. " _Cullen,_ " she choked out brokenly, unashamed of the mewling little gasps that she made as he eased inside of her.

He shuddered when he was finally fully inside her; he rested his forehead on hers for a moment, kissing her softly while they both panted for air. When he began to pull back, she cried out at the delicious friction, her thighs tightening around his hips as he nearly slipped from her before thrusting back in with a little more force.

He kissed her clumsily, both of them more concerned with trying to remember how to breathe correctly. "Oh, _Maker_ , Marian." He found the right angle, and at her sobbed plea he quickened the rhythm.

"More," she moaned, rolling her hips in time to his thrusts. " _Faster._ "

He obliged, driving into her so forcefully that she cried out; the pleasure swirled rapidly within her, building and intensifying. She was kissing him, breathing him in, moving with him and oh _Maker_ , she was so close...

"Cullen, I'm... I can't-" She didn't get any further, arching into him as she came; she felt the ecstatic waves thunder through her as she clung to him, sobbing and writhing as the pleasure consumed her. He kissed her fiercely, swallowing her cries, and after a moment he tensed against her and then he growled into her neck, bucking almost wildly as he joined her in completion. His overpowering reaction, and the warmth as he spilled inside of her, pushed her own climax even higher and she _screamed_.

There was a moment that seemed to last for an infinite amount of time, a moment where they were locked together in ecstasy, where her eyes seemed to fade out and thinking was impossible and even breathing seemed like the hardest thing she had ever attempted in her life. And then the rush was subsiding, and she was kissing him, drinking him in, nuzzling at his mouth and revelling in the glorious wash of sensations still drowning out the world.

Then it was over, and the only noises in the room were the gentle hiss and crackle of the fire and the sound of them both gasping for air. Marian could hear her own heartbeat, a thunderous roar in her ears as her body languorously drifted down from the high to which she had soared. She had no words for what had just happened, the immensity of what she could feel... not that her brain was being very helpful and providing her with words at the moment. Right then, thinking seemed like the most vastly complicated endeavour ever.

Cullen was still lying over her, his weight stunning to her- she felt like she was made of air right now, so how on earth could he be so heavy?

He seemed to come back to his senses long enough to slide to the side- she whimpered when she felt him slip from her body- and then he was dragging her flush against him, his eyes seeking out hers. His face was flushed, his hair was a mess, he was still panting to get his breath back and his lips were swollen from where she'd practically tried to devour his mouth; her heart did a silly little lurching dance as he smiled softly at her- _oh hello, what's this? Why does the sight of him smiling at me make me giddy as a spring lamb?_ \- and bent down to kiss her.

They both tried to tilt to the right and bumped noses; they laughed shakily, a sound that was gentle and intimate, and the look in his eyes just then made her heart stutter about wildly. When he kissed her, she couldn't help the soft little sounds that escaped from her or the way her fingers curled over his shoulders before sliding up into his hair, anchoring him to her.

"Marian," he murmured, kissing her between every word, "you are _remarkable_."

The compliment filled her with pride, but more than that, it evoked an irrepressible, ecstatic joy in her, and she felt tears pricking at her eyes as she tightened her arms around him and crushed her lips to his. _One mind-blowing shag does not make him the future messere Hawke_ , her brain argued.

 _But weeks' worth of beautiful, sexy letters and a mind-blowing shag might_ , her heart countered.

She ignored them both, kissing him until they were both breathless again, until her still tingling body was crying out for a reprieve against the assault of sensations she was battering it with. Delicious lethargy began to fill her veins and she let herself drift off in his arms, warm and sated and determined to ignore the clamouring in her heart for as long as possible.

***

It was some time later when they began to stir, the floor not exactly comfortable for long periods of time. Cullen was the first to rouse himself sufficiently, and stopped to stare at the marvel that was Marian Hawke naked in his arms. As delightful as it was, it raised all manner of complications for them both. He had his obligations as Captain; she had made her stance on Circle Towers known to whoever would stop to listen. Maker, only three weeks ago they were still snapping and snarling at each other like wild dogs and yet here they were entwined together in the aftermath of what was undoubtedly the greatest sexual encounter of his life. A quick and desperate coupling on the floor of her study, and apparently he was smitten.

His heart did a silly little lurching dance as he stared down at her, dozing with her head on his arm. With a sigh, he reached down and brushed her hair away from her face, whispering "Marian?"

She groaned drowsily and turned, pressing her face into his chest. "So what happens now?" Her voice was muffled, but the question was fairly obvious.

"Now..." He trailed off, placing a kiss against her hair. "Now, I suppose we'll have to work out what the restrictions are for relationships within the ranks. If we don't tell anybody you're Templar trained, we won't be accused of fraternisation at least."

Her giggle took him by surprise, for it wasn't a sound he would ever have associated with her. "Oh, love," she sighed happily, turning her face up to his. "I suppose I should have worded that more succinctly. What I meant was ' _what happens now? Do we stay on the floor and make mad, passionate love in my study for the rest of the day, or do we sneak upstairs to my room and make use of the bed?_ ' But I do adore the fact that you're planning on how best to trick everyone so you can keep me."

"I can't help it if I want to keep what's mine." He kissed down to her ear. "Love?"

"Mmhmm?"

It was his turn to chuckle. "No, I meant it as a question. You called me love?"

She stretched languidly, the movement pressing her curves into him. "It's an endearment, sweetie. I was expressing my affection for you... unless you'd prefer I didn't?"

His hand slid down the outside of her hip, sneaking a little lower until she mewled softly. "I'm rather partial to it," he murmured. He paused for second, and then chuckled again. "More than partial to it. And you're going to have to tell me how you came across the letter in the first place."

"Only if you tell me why you started writing them," she quipped.

He nuzzled at her cheek, his lips brushing at the corner of her mouth. "I thought I was going to catch a runaway mage," he said. "Instead I appear to have caught a runaway Templar with a voracious sexual appetite."

"Mm, only sexually voracious when you're involved, love."

"I'm not so sure about that; I have it on good authority that you have a penchant for writing dirty letters to strangers and leaving them in public places where anyone could stumble across them. That doesn't seem-"

She shut him up with a kiss, her foot hooking around the back of his knee to drag him into a more intimate embrace. "What if I promised to only ever write naughty letters to _you_ from now on?" she purred softly, nipping gently at his mouth.

He pretended to consider it. "I suppose I can allow it." He hesitated yet again. "Does this mean that you're of a frame of mind that you would want to keep, ah... ' _writing letters_ ' to me?"

The question buried beneath the question was fairly obvious, and with no small measure of trepidation she unwound herself from his embrace and propped herself up on one elbow. "I'm a deserter, Cullen," she said quietly, "with an apostate sister and plenty of mage friends. I don't make it a secret that I support what the mages are doing to try and win back some of their freedoms. I... I'm loud and I'm clumsy and I know I say fuck way too much, but I-" She took a deep breath and her lip seemed to tremble for a moment before a steely look came into her eyes. "I like you, Cullen. A lot. I may even _love_ you-" She stumbled over the word slightly "- but I'd like the opportunity to get to know you outside of the letters before I make any foolish judgements. I do know that I can't stop thinking about you, and that I've never wanted to be with anyone more than you, so I-"

He cut her off with a kiss, unable to help the laugh that broke from him. "A simple yes would have sufficed. Or even ' _yes but let's take it slowly_ ' would have been acceptable."

She giggled and buried her head in the crook of his neck. "I can hardly ask you to go slowly after what we just did."

"And yet, I'm offering."

She smiled, and kissed him lazily; it turned more heated than either of them had intended, and she broke away with a shaky laugh. "What can I say, love? No girl can resist a man with such exquisitely erotic penmanship."

"Oh? Is that so?"

Marian smiled and kissed him again. "All I know is, you won my heart with a handful of sweet and dirty letters. You simply have a way with words."


End file.
